Enslaved
by JollyBigSis
Summary: Captured by Bakura and bound by a promise, Atem is confined to a treacherous life of darkness, thievery and rivalry. Will he be able to break free or is he fated to remain enslaved to a man with inscrutable motives and intentions? Set in an AE-AU.
1. Chapter 1

_Whilst reading the "YGO! Millennium World" series, Bakura began to pique my interest, it made me wonder what sort of relationship he would have with Atem in an AE-AU world. After fantasising about it for a long time, I decided to share those delicious thoughts with you all~. _

_**Warning**__: This fic contains violence, swears, non-con, lemon and debauchery. If you cannot stomach any of these, then I suggest turning back now—__**this story is NOT for you**__. _

_However, for those who like the sadistic, dark and sinisterness of Bakura, the King of Thieves, then I hope you'll enjoy it._

_**Disclaimer**__**: **__I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh!_

O-o-O-o-O

_Fire_!

The heavy smell of burning wood and flesh filled the air, it mingled with the sound of unintelligible screams and maniacal laughter. Flames emitting a bright light lashed out with its fiery tongue, consuming all which stood its path, burning everything it was fed.

It increased in width and height.

Panic overwhelmed the residents as they tried escaping, clutching their possessions as if their life depended on it. Some were lucky and others were not. If the greedy flames did not overwhelm them, it did not mean they were fortunate. The raiders were as hungry as the flames they ignited—whether for the riches, for the flesh or for the kills—it mattered not. Such deeds afforded them sport and they savoured it with relish. Merriment could be heard above the screaming of the tortured, it encouraged their leisurely acts of bloodlust and carnality. The assailants were not discriminate; men and women were not spared the barbaric savagery.

Hidden at the far end of the stables, an elderly man was preparing an escape for his loved ones so they may be away from carnage that befell the others. He was giving final instructions to two youths standing before him.

"Ensure you keep Atem safe, Mahado," the master of the house instructed. "If all goes well, I will rendezvous with you at my brother's house. Wait for me there; Lord Akhenaden will treat you well."

"Yes, my Lord," Mahado replied with dutiful determination. "I will protect the young master with my life, I swear upon it."

Akhnamkanon responded to the loyalty shown with a small smile. Mahado's courage was commendable, he knew the boy would do his utmost to safeguard Atem, regardless if it were a direct order or not. The two were very close since they grew up together—they were practically inseparable. It was why he entrusted him with his son.

"I know you will, Mahado," Akhnamkanon said with benevolence, squeezing the slender shoulders affectionately. Then he turned his attention towards the smaller boy. The aged lord looked fondly at his son. Sadness and uncertainty marred those kind eyes as he dedicated the petit face to memory.

Crimson orbs stared woefully back at him, glistening with unshed tears, it compelled Akhnamkanon to envelope the boy in a tight hug. "Ensure you keep safe and listen to Mahado, Atem," he said with gentle sternness. "He will be responsible for your wellbeing until we meet at your uncle's. Be always alert and attentive. The journey may be harsh and perilous but be brave, my son, and make me proud!"

Atem buried his face into the warm chest and nodded his head solemnly; his father's unique scent of spiced incense was comforting to his fraught mind. It calmed him. Steeling his determination and hardening his resolve, the petit youth finally pushed away. A flaming gaze met his father's. "I promise I will not disgrace you in any way, Father," Atem vowed. "Nor will I dishonour the name we bear. I, too, beseech you to take care and I pray we will meet soon."

Eyes rapidly blinked back the tears in an attempt to maintain the bold façade. _I will not cry_, Atem told himself. Suddenly he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder and he smile slightly. Mahado understood his pain; the gesture was his way of comforting him.

The sound of slow approaching footsteps, warned the trio of possible danger and they immediately became alert.

"Atem, Mahado, quickly…you must leave now!" Akhnamkanon's urgent whisper pressed them to make haste.

The lord and father watched fretfully as Mahado hoisted Atem onto on the prized stallion before the climbing on himself, placing his form behind his young master. Taking hold of the reins, the servant bade his lord farewell with a nod of his head and spurred the beast on. Atem twisted his body so he could get one final look at his father; no words were needed to express the grief the younger felt. As the mount sped off, a few stubborn tears escaped from its refuge and scattered like drops of crystal.

"Farewell my precious son, my children," Akhnamkanon whispered mournfully, staring at the departing pair. "May the Gods keep you safe from harm."

O-o-O-o-O

Emerging out of the stables, the escapees forced the stallion to speed up. Half of their home had gone up in flames and it was a matter of time before the rest would follow. Suppressing the urge to look back, the two kept their heads facing forward.

It was why they did not see the lone figure in the distance observing their escape.

A smirk broke out on the ringleader's face as lilac eyes looked on with glee; the thrills of the impending chase reverberating through his being, whilst his mount stamped on the ground impatiently.

"I found you," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. "Just a little longer, I will allow you your freedom for a little longer."

Waiting patiently, he gave the fugitives a head start before spurring his mount forward. The animal raced off in a full sprint…

O-o-O-o-O

The sound of thundering hooves approaching made Atem and Mahado turn their heads around. A distant figure on a black stallion was fast catching up with them.

"Hold on tight, Master Atem," Mahado warned as he dug his heel in to the animal's flank. The beast neighed loudly in protest and sped up. Chancing a glance backwards, the retainer saw the gap between the two, instead of widening, had somehow shortened. Muttering a curse under his breath, Mahado handed the reins to his young master. "Master Atem, please take this whilst I deal with the pursuer."

With a snort, Atem did as he was told, but not without reprimanding his childhood friend first. "How many times do I have to tell you to drop the title when there is no one else around, Mahado?' he chided. "Remember, I am _Atem_ when we are alone!"

A small smile favoured Mahado's face at the reproach. It was so like Atem to do away with such formalities. But then, the two of them had known each other for sixteen years—Mahado had met Atem for the first time when the latter was a baby. The three-year-old toddler fell in love with his young master immediately.

"I think the purser is gaining on us," Atem shouted above the noise of the wind and the pounding of hooves. "I think you may have to summon your guardian to deter him."

Mahado replied with a nod of his head and called for his Magician of illusions. The spirit beast materialised out of thin air and hovered protectively above the fleeing couple. "My Ka," he ordered, "attack the ground in front of the pursuer to stall him." Carefully he watched as his beast sent a ball of energy towards his target. It temporarily lit up the surrounding darkness with its intense light. The attack hit the ground, denting the dried earth with a large hole, but the pursuer managed to steer the horse away from its direct path.

Cursing under his breath, Mahado ordered another attack. And again, it was ineffective. The rider was able to skilfully manoeuvre the animal away from the trap blasted into the ground. With each failed attempt, Mahado become increasingly panicky. Not only was the enemy gaining on them, their steed, being burdened with two passengers, had slowed down considerably. It hindered any effective progress.

Frustration compelled the latter order the next attack on the rider. The desperation in his voice could not disguise the regret in which he felt at taking another's life. He had never killed before, under normal circumstances he would never consider such measures, however, their present predicament forced his hand—for Atem he would not hesitate to stain his conscience or hands with another's life's blood.

Atem knew he was responsible for Mahado's decision and he felt his companion's pain. "I am sorry," he said to Mahado gently, 'but we have no choice." He tried to ease some of the latter's guilt with words of support.

Mahado ordered his move and eagerly watched his magician's attack discharge across the darkened plains, his heart racing as the blast neared its target and impacted on the human, encasing him in a sphere of light. Mahado shielded his eyes against the glare and hoped he had accomplished his task.

_He hadn't._

The continuous drumming of hooves from his opponent's horse, told one of him two possibilities: the rider was dead and the horse was galloping without guided direction. If that were the case then perhaps he could capture the beast so they had two horses at their disposal. _Or_ it could well be the rider was still alive and in keen pursuit. Narrowing his eyes, Mahado could see the shape of the rider emerging from the cloud of dust.

It was the latter.

_Shit_, he thought as he ordered another attack, this time he observed attentively, curious to know how the other managed to fend off the assault.

What he discovered made the hair in the back of neck stand on end.

A large serpent-like creature appeared and blocked the attack with a sweep of his arm, protecting both master and animal. A laugh could be heard from that direction and it forced Atem to steer his gaze from the path in front of him to the one behind. Crimson eyes widened, a gasp expelled from parted lips as he stared in shock.

The rider was looking at him; the heated gaze was focus on him and not at Mahado, his assailant. It disturbed Atem that a teasing smirk tugged playfully on the other's lips, it seemed to mock them for their futile attempts to get away.

Bewildered, Atem could only stare back; he could not tear his eyes away.

"Atem," Mahado called out, "do not be distracted, concentrate on the road ahead and let me take care of this."

Slowly, Atem turned his head away, but not before he saw the lips curl with disdain at the interruption. It sent a chill down his spine, evoking a forbidding sensation that made him afraid for his companion.

"_Mahado_," he whispered fearfully.

It was the turning point in the confrontation. Little, did the young master know, it was his actions that provoked the enemy to attack. Displeased to have the former's attention diverted away from him, the pursuer ordered his retaliation. It was a blast so powerful the young retainer could not counter it. All he could do was order his Ka to defend, hoping it would protect them whilst he devised a way to defeat his opponent.

Sadly, he wasn't so fortunate. Strong as he was in spirit and determination, he was no match against his seasoned opponent. The attack seared through his spirit's shield like fire through paper.

"NO!" Mahado cried out as his Ka disintegrated on impact with the destructive beam, the result of his defeat caused him to spew blood. Clutching his chest, he swayed unsteadily. With the remainder of his strength depleted, he was unable to maintain his balance on the horse. Emitting an exhausted groan, he toppled off sideways.

"_MAHADO_!" Atem screamed as he pulled on the reins, the horse reared-up and came to an abrupt halt.

"_NO_! Atem, run!" the fallen man pleaded, his spent form sprawled on the arid ground. "Get away as fast as you can and don't look back!"

"Please, no, Mahado," Atem remonstrated as he slid off the horse. "I won't leave you behind. I have already lost too much today, I refuse to lose you as well." The youth got on his knees and wrapped the other's arm around his neck. Once he was secured, he tried to get up but Mahado being taller and heavier impeded his efforts. Still he tried, persisting with gritted obstinacy that rivalled a mule, he managed to haul the protesting man on his feet. But the strain of the conflict along with Atem's struggles proved too much for the wounded male and before long Mahado lost consciousness. Dejected, Atem gently laid the latter on the ground and placed his arms protectively around the unmoving form, a cheek resting on the fluttering chest.

Patiently, he waited for his assailant.

O-o-O-O

Locked in that pose was how Bakura found them. Atem fiercely guarding his companion—his fiery eyes burned with defiance and animosity—challenging him to do his worse. A sneer formed across the scarred face, as pale eyes fastened onto crimson. Without breaking eye contact, the King of Thieves bent down and grabbed the smaller male by the upper arm. Long fingers wound tightly around the slender limb and pulled the youth to his feet.

Atem protested loudly as he was hauled away from Mahado.

"Diabound," he commanded with authority to the beast beside him, ignoring his struggling captive, "finish that off!" A jerk of his chin to the figure on the ground indicated what _that _was.

"NO!" Atem's horrified voice echoed loudly across the empty plains, he redoubled his efforts to break free as fear and anxiety gripped him. Diabound's serpent tail drew back, poised to lash out. Just at that moment Atem wrenched free and threw himself in harm's way. The attack caught his back, knocking him onto the body he tried to protect. Teetering on the borders of unconsciousness, Atem saw Bakura crouch down beside him. Much to the youth's surprise, a rough hand reached out and touched his face, a thumb rubbed circles on the cheek it held.

Once again, their eyes met.

"Tsk, it seems you are willing to do anything for him, right?" he sneered. "Then breaking you may be easier than I thought! What an interesting turn of events, _Princess_!"

As he slipped into the welcoming arms of oblivion, Atem was vaguely aware of lips crashing hungrily onto his...

~TBC~

O-o-O-o-O

**A/N**: So there you have it, folks—the project I have been gushing about for a long time~. How did I fare? Did it whet your appetite? Do you want to see more? Thoughts on it would be much appreciated, not to mention encouraging. I hope to hear from as many Caste/Bakura fans as possible.

I haven't decided how often I will update nor the length of chapter I will adopt. Needless to say, your response will determine the time spent on this story as I have my KaiYami commitments elsewhere in the fandom.

Well, here's a preview of what's to come:

_Examining Mahado for injuries, Atem began to feel the eyes of another on him, the heaviness of the stare made him direct his gaze back to the figures on the bed. Lilac eyes, belonging to the dominant male, were staring intensely at him_._ It made Atem shudder involuntarily..._

Anyho, thanks for reading~!


	2. Chapter 2

_**Warning**__: Het lemon and yaoi smut, possible boringness and typos. Read with caution._

_**Disclaimer**__**: **__I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh!_

O-o-O-o-O

_Voices_...

Voices filtered through his hazy consciousness, familiar yet unfamiliar. Atem tried to pry open his eyes, but the effort caused him to cry out in agony as his vision met with an explosion of colour and light. The effects hurt him; it triggered the pain in the back of his head to throb mercilessly. Reflectively, he tried to shield his eyes from the brightness with his hands...but found he couldn't move them. With little choice, he closed his eyes again, venturing to slowly open one eye, and then the other on his second attempt.

When his vision was restored, he peered warily around him. He was lying in a makeshift cot; his bound arms were raised above his head and tethered to the wooden frame. He tugged at the restraints to see if it could be loosened, as suspected, it did not shift one bit.

Resigned to his captured state, Atem lifted up his head and looked to the source of the voices. His gaze encountered two bodies on a bed; their tanned limbs entwined around each other, their forms writhed in a steady rhythm.

Atem gasped, his eyes widening at the scene. They were copulating.

The female was sitting on top her of her lover with her back towards him, riding on the appendage that impaled her lower body. Her arms were wrapped around the neck of the man whose face was buried in her chest. The woman, with hair the colour of Ra's rays, tilted her head back slightly. Face flushed, and lips parted as moans and pants emitted from them; she was a beautiful sight.

Fascinated, the youth could not avert his eyes, the movements were mesmerising and the complementing sounds, alluring. But, something seemed a little off to his senses. Both bodies appeared too lean, the voices a little too deep and the place where the penetration was going in was...

_NO_!

Realisation struck Atem like a bolt of lightning.

The couple on bed were both _men_!

Disgust and horror consumed the boy, yet he was unable to look away. As if fate wanted to confirm his suspicion, the "male" pushed his lover onto his back and continued the onslaught in that position. Atem could clearly see the other's flat chest and erection, he watched with shameful fascination as a hand snaked its way down to the stiffened member and began pumping it in hurried strokes, evoking more moans to fill the room.

The other, whom Atem recognised as his captor, had his mouth on his lover's shoulder and was sucking it hard. A hiss of pain was heard as teeth broke through the skin, a small trickle of blood formed and seeped between the lips that were still adhered to the flesh.

Atem groaned softly, the pain in his head had increased and he closed his eyes to the image. Unable to shut out the sounds, he was forced to listen to their feverish vocals.

A low moan caught Atem's attention and his mind stirred, evoking a memory from three years ago—a memory awakened by the lusty cries...

_Hasan_!

A tall, handsome, muscular man with vast powers; he was employed to protect his father, a prosperous merchant whose livelihood was in trade. The latter's success and affluence meant he was a target for unscrupulous opportunists; Akhnamkanon was fortunate Hasan had protected him on many occasions, thwarting attempts of abduction and murder. The fearless man's existence was bane to the felons he kept his master safe from.

Atem, much to Mahado's chagrin, adored him; he worshipped the towering man with unparalleled devotion. Hasan, in return, loved and spoilt his devotee, rustling the tri-coloured head fondly whenever he had the chance, and allowing the child to sit by his side as he fed him tales of ancient Gods and Goddesses.

Captivated, Atem loved him deeply.

Being the only child of a rich and prominent family, Atem was well loved and pampered. His father, a kind and benevolent man, was respected amongst his servants; the admiration was naturally extended to the little gem of the family. Yet, such attention did not make a brat of the boy, Akhnamkanon ensured his motherless child had a stern upbringing, that he was never overly indulged.

However, cocooned in his protective environment and having little to do with the outside world, Atem's life was very sheltered. On rare occasions he was allowed out, Hasan accompanied him. A disgruntled Mahado would also tag along, his face sporting a dour expression because Atem would be too occupied with his surroundings or _that man_ to pay heed to him! Atem found Mahado's attitude perplexing, yet amusing.

Dressed inconspicuously and unadorned with jewellery, they tried not to draw attention. Atem would wear a long, plain, hooded cloak over his body to prevent the sun from scorching his skin and it masked his face. Even at a young age, his beauty was striking—the unusual colour of his eyes was his asset—it drew interest towards him as tragically demonstrated on one of their excursions.

That trip was like any other, minus one sulky Mahado. They were enjoying the sounds and sights the experience afforded them, whilst basking in the excitement of the bustling town. Before long, Hasan stopped at a stall that sold trinkets and became engrossed with the wares on display. A small turquoise pendant piqued his interest, his companion noticed. Alone and neglected, Atem grew bored. Wanting a good stretch, he placed his hands behind his hips and leaned back—_a little too back_.

His hood fell away.

Quickly replacing it, he glanced around him nervously...and was met with a toothy grin from an unkempt man beside him. Fearful and uncomfortable with the heated leer that was fixed on him, he inched closer his protector—only to find he had moved further down the stall. Panic began to surface as Atem hurried towards him...

He didn't make it to Hasan.

A filthy hand covered his mouth to stop his cries for help and he was dragged away. He struggled with all his might, but to no avail. Rivalled with a larger opponent, his attempts were pitifully inadequate and Atem was hauled to a secluded alleyway where he was molested. Wide-eyed and terrified, with a hand still pressed on his face, Atem screamed silently for Hasan, the man's revolting breath and wet lips on his skin was making him nausea and the hand fondling his rear alarmed him. He was on the verge of passing out from fright when he felt his assailant's weight lift off him. Strong arms picked him up effortlessly and he nestled closer to the warmth and security his rescuer exuded.

Through half-closed eyes, Atem saw his attacker squatting in the dirt ground; glaring angrily and baring his teeth, like a wild animal, at the man who stole his prey.

Without a word, Hasan raised his hand and discharged a white beam at his target. Atem felt a slight jolt from the large body as the power was released. It ripped through his foe with a single blast, burning hole in his chest and the man fell without uttering a sound. Eyes bulging from his dirty face were the last things Atem remembered before he blissfully gave in to the darkness. He was unaware of being carried home.

Of course, Hasan was duly punished when they returned; a severe whipping he had received for his negligence towards his charge. Atem tearfully begged for a reprieve, but it fell on deaf ears. The crime was too grave to be dismissed and as a result, Hasan bore the scars of his carelessness on his back.

As expected, it was Atem's last outing, he was never allowed outside without the security that befitted his status, not that Atem complained. It took several months before the nightmares finally subsided, where he no longer woke, soaked in sweat and screaming for help. Mahado was at hand to allay his anxiety during those troubled times; he would coax his young master back to sleep with promises of protecting him always. Atem was grateful for the concern shown.

After his ordeal, Atem become distant and withdrawn. Only one person roused his interest. Hasan. He was his hero, his saviour...he was his _God_!

He began to stalk the latter like a shadow, stealthily trailing him unawares.

On one particular occasion, he had followed his target and saw him meet with a maid in a secluded area of the garden. Shrubs hid the small stalker as he kept himself at a distance. Hasan hadn't noticed the youth; his attention was solely on the girl who stood provocatively in front of him. The female servant was the prettiest one in the house, small but curvy. She had a cheerful nature, which reminded Atem of the sun, bright and warm and a dimple would appear whenever she smiled.

Feeling a little awkward, Atem was debating on whether to retreat or make his presence known, when Hasan kissed the girl. Shocked, Atem was rendered motionless; he could only stare as large and small hands greedily explored the flesh that was impeded beneath the layers of clothing. Impatient fingers began undoing the garments and, soon, naked bodies were exposed for the further appreciation.

The thirteen year old knew he was witnessing a private moment and for decency's sake, he should have left. However, jealousy kept him rooted. Those hands fondling the plump breasts and caressing the soft curves of that woman were the same hands that ruffled his hair roughly in jest or affection. He loathed how they were lavishing attention on someone else; he didn't want another to feel the warmth of those touches.

Various sensations coursed through his body as he watched. As much as he found the scene repulsive, he could not look away, not when Hasan pierced the woman with his erection and not when he began slamming it into her, burying it in a place he could not see.

The muffled cries began to infiltrate his ear, it escalated in urgency as the movements increased in speed. Hasan placed a hand over the woman's mouth to stop her pitched cries from filling the air, whilst her body shuddered under him. The big man withdrew his hard length and began stroking it in long, swift strokes. He bit back a cry as a thick white fluid gushed from it, splashing the creamy skin beneath him; his body trembled from the effects.

Satiated, Hasan bent down and rummaged through his discarded clothes, a smile adorned his face as he retrieved an item from them.

_It was a turquoise pendant threaded through a long black cord._

Swiftly, he eased it over his lover's head and watched as she squealed with delight at the gift. A laugh escaped the pair and once again their lips connected.

Atem quietly retreated, his agitation and frustration made him angry. He ran back to his room and there he remained, crying. He did not appear for dinner and an anxious Mahado went to fetch him. He was told to "go away" for his troubles. Likewise, Hasan tried his luck and he was met with metal beaker thrown his way and a loud "I HATE YOU" yelled at him.

Finally, the impatient lord and master went to visit his son. What was said during that short interval had caused the former to storm out of his son's room with a dark and angry countenance.

The pretty maid was never seen again, it was rumoured she was dismissed from employment. From then on, Hasan's attitude towards Atem changed. Gone was the happy young man and in its place was a bitter and cold stranger. Distancing from the youth, the bodyguard refused to be in the same room as his young master if the elder was absent. It was the price for the betrayal and he ensured Atem felt its effect daily.

The cold treatment broke Atem's heart and he sought solace from Mahado. The latter comforted him, allowing him a shoulder to cry on when Hasan's harsh attitude proved too much, he encouraged Atem to open up and talk when things troubled him. It was just as well Atem had Mahado to rely on because, one day, Hasan disappeared.

Atem was thankful Mahado had supported him through those difficult years, the latter had helped him become independent and he taught him to be strong. Without him, he would never have gotten over that idolisation for _that_ _man_. It was from this experience, he discovered his feelings for a certain serious and kind browned-eyed individual.

_Mahado..._

Atem's thoughts suddenly turned to his friend. Eyes frantically searched the room and found the subject, still unconscious, tied to a thin wooden pillar. He breathed a sigh of relief, grateful that Mahado was alive despite their unfavourable situation.

Examining Mahado for injuries, Atem began to feel the eyes of another on him, the heaviness of the stare made him direct his gaze back to the figures on the bed. Lilac eyes, belonging to the dominant male, were staring intensely at him. It made Atem shudder involuntarily. The look the man fixed in his direction was piercing; it never wavered from him as he made love to another. A smirk appeared on his face as he stared and Atem looked away, his face reddening.

As the receiving male neared his peak, his cries became louder and frequent. It unconsciously drew Atem's eyes back to the bed. The sneering man was still staring at him, but his concentration was faltering as his body sped up its movement. White slender brows knitted tightly together and Atem knew the man was at his limit. Stimulated by his observer's intense stare, the man gripped the parted thighs beneath him and quickened his thrusting. It enabled the both to climax together and quietude swiftly descended around them, broken only by the sound of breathless panting.

Pulling away and reclining on his back with an arm supporting his head, the dominating male kicked his lover. "Wash me, Malik!" he demanded roughly.

The one called, "Malik" lifted his head up slightly and scowled at the speaker, displeased with the rude treatment he'd just received. "Why?" he asked tersely, reluctant to move unless he was given a satisfactory reason to do so.

The captor grinned in response; his eyes strayed to the youth with blood-coloured glare.

"Because I wish to play with the Princess now," he chuckled...

~TBC~

O-o-O-o-O

A/N: Sorry if this chapter's pace is a little slow, but the background is relevant so please bear with any disappointment for a little while longer. I promise you, the next chapter is when the fun begins.

As always, your thoughts are much appreciated so please be generous with them, I look forward to hearing from you, readers~. In the meantime, here's a glimpse of what's to come:

_Bakura grabbed Atem by the jaw and steered the small face towards his. Crimson defiance stared boldly back at him and it excited the thief. _

"_So, what do you propose, Princess? _Will it be _you_ or _him_?"_ he asked with feigned curiosity. "__Though, bear in mind, with _him_, I will not be gentle."_

_Pain, anger and hatred flashed across Atem's face and Bakura observed it with acute interest, a smile spread slowly across his face as the fierce glare intensified. He knew the answer even before it was uttered by the youth._

"_Please take me, Lord Bakura," Atem replied with mock meekness, his expression defied the humbleness exhibited in his words._

_Bakura's smile widened..._

Mheheheheheh...


	3. Chapter 3

_**Warning**__: Slight lemon-ish and long-winded verbosity, which led to the lack of lemon intended for this chapter. Sorry~! *Epic fail*_

_May contains errors and typos, which will be corrected when I am less zombiefied. _

_Enjoy the chapter~._

_**Disclaimer**__**: **__I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh!_

O-o-O-o-O

Malik flipped onto his stomach and rested his chin in a cupped hand. Thus he remained, whilst scrutinising Atem with intense hostility, his lips pulled into a pout. "I really don't understand what's so special about him, Bakura?" he griped sulkily. "And why should I 'wash' you so you could fuck him?"

Bakura rolled his eyes and huffed his annoyance. As always, Malik's jealousy made him unbearably insolent, he was always prickly and competitive when it came to his captives; his latest acquisition obviously fared no better. "Well, I don't want to play with him, with your scent all over me," he snapped. "So you either do as I say or I'll find a replacement for you!" He nudged the smaller man with his foot again.

Grumbling under his breath, Malik rolled over and got up, his movements agile and graceful. Being ordered to carry out such menial task for the benefit of another irked him—_he_ never got that treatment before—_so why_ _him_? Truth be told, the tethered youth was beautiful and it was easy to see why Bakura was taken in by him, but still...

Emptying some water into a copper basin from an earthen jug, Malik threw in a small cloth and immersed his hand into the water, swirling the cloth around in a peevish manner.

A frown marred his face.

"Hurry up, Malik!" the voice was rudely directed at him and he stiffened. Bakura's impatience caused his ire to rise and his frown to deepen. He picked up the cloth and angrily wrung it out, wishing wholeheartedly, it were the neck of that hateful boy. The pout protruded further as he turned towards his master.

Lord Bakura, the infamous King of Thieves, was stretched out lazily across the bed, one hand still under his head, and the other held a beaker of wine. Sipping the beverage delicately, his steadfast gaze was completely absorbed on his prize.

Malik suppressed the snarl that rose in his throat, he dared not upset the Thief King or he'd be told to leave, he certainly wouldn't want that to happen. No, he wouldn't want to miss the fun of watching his lord toy with his new plaything. It would be amusing to watch Bakura break the child, the latter's tears would salve his bruised and trodden ego. What he wouldn't give to see those brazen eyes downcast and swollen from grief.

Malik smiled to himself.

Passing the cloth over the sweaty body, Malik wiped vigorously, enjoying the feel of toned muscles beneath the thin piece of linen. It was apparent Bakura was appreciating the effects of his ministrations, especially around the groin. The spent member hardened slightly when he ran the damp fabric over it; such reaction prompted Malik to wrap the cloth around the appendage and drag downwards.

Bakura arched with pleasure the action induced and he pulled the offender in for a long ardent kiss. _It tastes of wine_, Malik thought distractedly as he wound his arms around the other's neck, his task forgotten. He was already turned on and set for another round. Unfortunately for him, his lover had other plans.

Bakura pried off the attached male, ignoring the disappointed groan, which followed. He, too, was erected, but he chose to ignore it. If he was going to be fucking anyone soon, it was going to be that boy with the impertinent gaze. His vision strayed to the boy once more and, again, their eyes locked. Bakura shivered excitedly at the way _he_ was staring at him, his mind recalling the first time he had been noticed; it was during the chase, when _he_ turned around and looked at him. The feeling was indescribable; to have those crimson spheres focused intently on him through the excitement of the pursuit was exhilarating. Captivated, it added to the thrill...until that _nobody_ broke the trance.

Even now, the thought of how easily the boy obeyed his companion angered him. Unbeknownst to his two victims, the thoughts evoked the dark and cruel side of him to emerge. He wasn't going to be satisfied until he had crushed the annoying pest and devoured the youth completely. The boy was his!

Malik watched Bakura closely and saw his expression darken; the slight curl of the thin lips, he noticed, revealed his silent anger and his own lips twitched at the corners. He may get his wish after all, he thought gleefully.

Sitting up, Bakura handed his beaker to Malik and swung himself off the bed. All the while he watched the boy, pleased when he detected a gleam of fear in those vivid eyes. Fleeting as it was, it was enough to expose the other's anxiety. If he felt fear then he'd be easy to exploit. Retrieving his wine he took another sip, swirling the fruity nectar in his mouth as he slowly made his way towards his prey. The assuredness in his stride and the cocksure grin he wore made him fearfully predatory.

Wide-eyed with panic, Atem pulled on his restraints. His reaction spoke volumes of his apprehension and Bakura felt something inside him stir. There was something strangely erotic about the boy's fear, he could see it written on his face, he could smell it permeating the air around him and he could feel it roll off that slender body in waves...

All he wanted, now, was to _taste_ it.

The thought excited him and his cock stood proudly erect as he sauntered on, appreciating the impact he was having on his captive. He took his time, savouring the effects.

When he reached him, he placed his wine on the floor and sat down on the edge of bedding. Atem paled visibly under the honey-hued skin.

"What shall I do with you, now that I have you in my possession?" Bakura murmured, addressing himself than to the struggling youth beside him.

"Let me go, you scoundrel," Atem demanded, trying to mask his dread with reckless haughtiness. "And release Mahado!"

Bakura laughed and placed a hand on an ashen cheek; he felt the boy flinch beneath it. "Ah, so you remembered our kiss, Princess," he drawled; observing the boy closely as his hand glided from the face and down the scantily dressed body until it encountered soft skin, the exposed thighs were exquisite to touch and it tantalised him. Calloused fingers lightly caressed the bare flesh in long teasing sweeps, trailing from the knee to the fleshy mounds of the rounded buttocks. It took all of Bakura's self control not to take the boy there and then, the need to savour his prize slowly prevented him from succumbing to the mounting temptation. His body was taut with unspent tension, his need for release was great; but experience had taught him the virtue of patience. Whether it was for a hunt or a raid, forbearance was the key to getting what he wanted; he knew he would be duly rewarded if he persevered a little longer.

Bakura inwardly sighed; the enchanting creature was hard to ignore. The furious glare that was thrown his way had a pronounced effect on his cock and it made him restless. Leaning forward, he rested a hand on either side of Atem's head so his body loomed over the smaller one, a teasing smirk hovering on his lips.

Unfazed by the intimidating stance, Atem glared back. "All I remember was how much I loathed you when you hurt my friend, the act was unforgivable," he retorted. "And as for the 'kiss', to me it was more of a violation, an act of abuse on your part!"

Bakura laughed aloud and a snicker from the bed echoed it. Without warning, the hand that was gentle only moments ago shot up and grabbed the buttocks, fingers pressed into the taut cheek as nails dug hard into the flesh. Atem cried out in pain.

"_This_ is an act of abuse, my Princess" he sneered, "You are too naïve if you think a stolen kiss could be defined as one. I would gladly give you a demonstration on what 'violation' really entail, if you so desire it." His grip on the rear tightened, a finger idly rubbing the parting between the cheeks—specifically, around a puckered opening. Then he pressed the digit into the loincloth, pushing the garment into the dent.

"_NO_!" cried Atem, trying to pull away. Being threatened in such a way bought back memories of his assault three years ago and it scared him. Panic seized him and he began to thrash about violently, his alarm-filled hysteria enabled him to break free from his captor's grasp and land a heel on the naked chest in front of him. It earned a withering glare from the thief and a loud guffaw from Malik.

Bakura uttered a curse as he fought to regain control of the body beneath him. Deft hands grabbed the flailing legs, one by the ankle, and the other by the calf forcing the youth to calm down. Bewildered, Bakura stared down at his captive who was panting heavily through parted lips; the small face was flushed from the exertion, his eyes enormous from fear. With a groan, Bakura surrendered to the lure and crushed his lips onto Atem's...

_Atem bit him_.

Pulling back, he stared at the bristling male, whilst wiping his mouth with the back of his hand; he heard Malik in the back hiss with rage and he put up a hand to prevent the blond from springing to his defence. Without a word, he retaliated by biting on the slender neck.

Atem froze momentarily as nausea filled him. Wet kisses, foul breath of another time blurred with that of the present. Silent screams began to fill his head for someone to save him—someone he loved—someone who promised to protect him always. A name was pulled from his lips...

"_Mahado_!"

The entreaty had a powerful effect, a faint moan was heard and the unconscious figure stirred.

Three pairs of eyes steered towards the waking man.

"Mahado!" Atem cried out in astonishment, his relief on seeing his friend regain consciousness made him temporarily forget his own precarious predicament.

"A...tem," a voice thick with disuse tried to speak the revered name; it was a response to Atem's voice as opposed to seeing him.

Mahado grappled to surface from the shadowy depths of oblivion, his mind was still numb from the pain, which clung to it. He shook head as if to physically dispel it of confusion and then opened his eyes. What he saw provoked him to summon his ka without a moment's hesitation.

"Guardian Spirit—"

"Gag him!" barked Bakura, watching with satisfaction as Malik immediately jumped off the bed and stuffed the damp cloth into the pest's mouth.

Mahado scowled at Bakura with muted hatred, whilst Bakura stared back, clearly amused with the turn of events.

"So, it seems you haven't mastered the art of 'mind summoning' your Ka yet?" A scornful laugh accompanied the revelation; it pleased Bakura to see the vehemence increase with the words. It meant his assumptions were correct. "As you can see, summoning your Ka solely through voice command has its disadvantages. How are you going to save your precious young master now without the use of your voice and all trussed up?"

Brown eyes, turned towards the aforementioned. Guilt and remorse assailed the retainer; the pain was openly reflected in his eyes when it fleetingly met crimson. His defeat was deplorable, his failure to protect Atem was unforgivable—it was a disgrace.

Ashamed, he looked away.

Atem sensing the other's dejection called out to him, "Mahado, please do not blame yourself," he implored earnestly. "I know you did your best to protect me; it was my stubbornness that got the both of us caught. I should have listened to you, I should have fled, but I could not bear the thought of abandoning you to your death, so please forgive me, my friend."

Eyes reverted back to the reclined figure on the cot and the gaze softened. With a slight nod of his head, Mahado informed his charge he understood what was being relayed. _They were a pair. As long as they have each other, they could endure whatever fate threw at them._ _Together, they will ride out the storm_. _It was a promise_.

Atem responded with a tender smile.

Small as the gesture was between master and servant, it spoke volumes of their closeness and familiarity. Bakura watched the silent exchange with displeasure, whilst simmering with an unidentifiable emotion. It was akin to that burning sensation experienced during the chase and ever present when thoughts of that pest were evoked, it seared him with its scalding properties, inciting him to lash out.

Malik watched with growing fascination. He could see the tempest slowly gathering in his lord, the darkness he harboured in abundance began to shift its way to the forefront, enveloping him with a menacing aura. The small male shivered with eager anticipation, his elation blighted only by one undeniable fact. Lips curled with disdain, as the truth manifested itself from the former's reaction. The nameless emotion, which baffled Bakura so, was, much to Malik's chagrin, very recognisable.

_The King of Thieves was jealous_.

True to Malik's prediction, Bakura's maliciousness surfaced. "A touching reunion indeed," mocked the irate man, the hand that had slackened its hold on the Atem's rear tightened around the flesh once more. The reinforced grip caused the latter to jolt and cry out. "How do you suggest we celebrate this special moment, Princess? Shall we consummate this special occasion by my fucking you in front of him?"

Atem tried to kick out. "Over my dead body," he spat venomously.

"Tsk, how noble, but that wouldn't benefit me at all, now would it? After all the trouble I went through to obtain you, what fun would that be?" the thief replied. "No, I want your full cooperation in this matter, I want to hear your moans as I fuck you, I want you to return my caresses as I consume you and I want you to beg me for more!"

Atem's eyes widened to the vulgar preposterousness of those demands. It pleased Bakura to see that reaction.

"You're a lot of trouble, Princess," he admitted, "but that's what makes you different. You wouldn't be worth having if cowered like the rest of them with their pitiful tears and noisy snivelling. No, it is your feisty attitude that turns me on. Oh, how I look forward to breaking you, to taming you and to moulding you. You _will_ be mine, for I will have you no matter what—even if it means I have to use _him_ as leverage for your subservience! You cannot escape the fate I have intended for you, in the same way, he cannot escape his."

Atem gasped at the audacity of the confession, through the corner of his eye he could see Mahado frantically shaking his head, his protests muffled through the obstruction in his mouth.

"You are sorely mistaken if you believe you can have it your way!" Atem fumed. "You've taken everything I hold dear and you expect me to tend to your ridiculous whims—_to_ _obey_ _you_? I would rather die first!"

Nonchalantly, Bakura shrugged his shoulders. "It seems you do not understand what I am saying to you," Bakura replied, heaving an exaggerated sigh. "So let me rephrase it." Pointing at Mahado, he declared brusquely, "His fate will be in your hands, I will not take your life or his—that would be too considerate of me. Instead, your cooperation will determine whether I have him at the mercy of my men, allowing them to do whatever they see fit, whilst you watch—or you can chose to keep him safe by yielding to me..._willingly_."

Atem remained speechless, suspicion etched clearly on his face as he digested the request.

Stifled objections were heard from the threatened male; it called out for Atem's attention. Successfully, the latter spontaneously turned his head and sought out the bound male.

Atem's heart plummeted when he saw Mahado pleading with his eyes; it begged him not to surrender to the unscrupulous demands that were asked of him. Such concern made his heart ache; it pained the youth to oppose him, but circumstances dictated otherwise. Atem knew Mahado would readily suffer the torture the thief threaten to bestow on him, just as Bakura knew he would do anything to prevent it from happening. The devious thief had backed him neatly into a corner with no way of escaping. The ploy was used to ensure his compliance; the choice was a ruse to force him to agree to it. Upon reflection, if it were in his power to protect Mahado then he would not hesitate to do so.

With his mind made up, Atem smiled at the one person he loved above all others.

Bakura grabbed Atem by the jaw and steered the small face towards his. Crimson defiance stared boldly back at him and it excited the thief.

"So, what do you propose, Princess?" he asked with feigned curiosity. "Will it be you or him? Though, bear in mind, with him, I will not be gentle."

Pain, anger and hatred flashed across Atem's face and Bakura observed it with acute interest, a smile spread slowly across his face as the fierce glare intensified. He knew the answered even before it was uttered by the youth.

"Please take me, Lord Bakura," Atem replied with mock meekness, his expression defied the humbleness exhibited in his words.

Bakura's smile widened...

~TBC~

O-o-O-o-O

**A/N**: First of all, my apologies for ending with the preview from the last chapter. It was a long chapter hence I didn't want to drag it more than necessary. I hope you were not too disappointed with the results here. I will leave the smutty goodness for the up-coming chappy, I promise.

Secondly, my thanks to: Yunastevens, Mel, Ayaseth, CandyassGoth, ilovemanicures, A big fan of you, and Hithere~! Your thoughts, however long or short, kept me inspired _and_ guilty for not updating sooner. I am truly grateful for your encouragements and I hope you will all continue to support me with your kind words. Know it is your awesomeness, which makes sharing that much sweeter~~~. I look forward to your wonderful thoughts again.

Finally, here's the preview for the next chapter:

_The thief noticed Atem's look of yearning directed at Mahado and it irked him. Straightening out the strip of fabric that was used as his captive's bindings, he placed it over the fiery orbs that teased and excited him so. A cry of surprise escaped from Atem's lips, as his sight and the image of Mahado were lost to him. His hand reached up to the remove the covering, only for it to be caught in a bruising grip. _

"_Don't touch it!" Bakura ordered, his cold attitude revealed much of his displeasure. "I can't have you looking at another whilst I am fucking you, now can I?" _


	4. Chapter 4

_**Warning**__: __**YAOI! Lemon ahead, so proceed with caution**__. I hope it was worth the long wait~!_

_All errors and typos will be amended when I can look back at this chappy without being too critical about it._

_**Disclaimer: **__I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh!_

O-o-O-o-O

Pain, anger and hatred flashed across Atem's face and Bakura observed it with acute interest, a smile spread slowly across his face as the fierce glare intensified. He knew the answered even before it was uttered by the youth.

"Please take me, Lord Bakura," Atem replied with mock meekness, his expression defied the humbleness exhibited in his words.

Bakura's smile widened. He was jubilant he had gotten his wish, yet the knowledge of Atem offering himself for the sake of the pest, left a bitter aftertaste. It tainted his victory. Furthermore, the display of agitation from the remonstrating male galled him. Without a backward glance, he gestured instructions to Malik with a wave of his hand.

A snicker was heard from the accomplice as he selected a small vial from a wooden chest atop a narrow table and approached Mahado with it.

Trepidation marked the latter's face despite his gallant attempt to remain calm. The feeling, which crept up on him as the other neared, was a foreboding one.

Atem was less composed. "What are you going to do with that?" he yelled at Malik, pulling on his restraints anew in his desperation. His anxiety pleased his rival.

On reaching Mahado, Malik pulled out the wooden stop with his teeth and removed the cloth. With one swift motion, he emptied the vial's content into the latter's mouth.

"_NO_! Leave him alone—" Atem began, but the sentence was cut short when Bakura grabbed him by the jaw and kissed him. A warm, sweet liquid seeped into his mouth the moment their lips connected and he swallowed it.

_It was wine_.

Taken by surprise, Atem spluttered as the beverage slid down his throat; its rich, fruity flavour was to familiar to him.

_The wine was his father's_.

Opening his mouth to berate the offender for his actions and for the stolen wares, Bakura, once again, filled his mouth with wine. Repeating this several times, the thief force-fed Atem until he could no longer remonstrate. Atem groaned and closed his eyes to the ensuing dizziness, having consumed the alcohol on an empty stomach, the effects went straight to his head.

Satisfied with the results, Bakura decide to enlighten the debilitated male. "The vial contains a potion that is concocted from various plants," he revealed. "Its sole purpose is to quell one's Ka by repressing the wielder's ability to summon it. I saw fit to use it on _him_ as we can't have nasty surprises springing up on us whilst we are busy, right _Princess_?"

Atem tried to lift his head up to glare at the speaker and to answer back, but found it was too much effort. He fell back with a groan.

The response prompted a smirk from his captor; it was perfect to savour his prize for _he_ was ripe for the taking. Initially, Bakura was hoping to have the boy struggling and fighting against him—the feistiness would have turned him on immensely, however, seeing the beautiful youth flushed from the alcohol and lying submissively on his back was delectable, his surrender tempted him. Like this, he would still have the thrill of toying with his prey _and_ get a satisfactory response out of it. Such rewarding benefits made his cock twitch and stiffen in eager anticipation.

Gently, Bakura undid the ties on the bound wrists and Atem's arms slumped heavily to his side. His intoxication made his limbs feel as if it were made of stone, his movements were leaden and sluggish. He was drained of strength, so he remained still, his face turned towards Mahado, wishing with all his might he would wake from this nightmare to find he was safe within the confines of those strong arms.

Mahado stared back at him with glazed, unseeing eyes, it told his young master that he was no longer cognizant of the events around him—he was truly subdued.

_Mahado_...

Atem heard a faint whimper, through the muddled haze of his mind, it sounded like his voice, but he wasn't sure. The vision of the room swam before him and another whimper was heard. The image of Mahado began to distort and he tried to reach out to him...but his heavy arms refused to obey. All he managed was a twitch of his fingers, which he hardly felt.

The thief noticed Atem's look of yearning directed at his fellow captive and it irked him. Straightening out the strip of fabric that was used as the captive's bindings, he placed it over the fiery orbs that teased and excited him. A cry of surprise escaped from Atem's lips, as his sight and the image of Mahado were lost to him. His hand reached up to the remove the covering, only for it to be caught in a bruising grip.

"Don't touch it!" Bakura ordered, his cold attitude revealed much of his displeasure. "I can't have you looking at another whilst I am fucking you, now can I?"

A derisive snort was Malik's reply to the comment and it earned him a scathing glare from the irate man. Chastened, he looked away, sulkily mumbling obscenities under his breath.

Dismissing the disgruntled man, Bakura returned his attention to the task he was performing before he was rudely interrupted. Diligent hands knotted the cloth behind the tricolour head and pulled tightly. Satisfied it was firmly secured; he proceeded to divest the boy of his clothes.

"_No_!" Atem objected. Bakura's action prompted alertness and the shock forced him to voice his protest and resist. His feeble attempts to push away the hands that undid the belt around his shenti* was met with a soft chuckle.

"You are not getting away from me, Princess, so just enjoy it," Bakura murmured, amusement colouring his words as he lifted the small body up to pull the trapped fabric from beneath. "Irrespective to whether you submit willingly or resist violently, your response will arouse me. The only difference is how hard you want to make it upon yourself! In your current state, I would say you are in no position to stop me even if you want to, so why don't you go easy on yourself and avoid unnecessary pain and grief."

"_Bastard_!" spat Atem, the alcohol loosening his tongue and coarsening his vocabulary, making a less distasteful comeback difficult. A laugh was his reply as impatient hands pushed his tunic up his chest and over his head. The youth emitted a growl in his throat as his upper body was exposed for all eyes to see.

Bakura purred with pleasure, he could imagine the crimson glare beneath the cloth and he was tempted take a peek. Only the knowledge of how that rodent could draw that gaze away from him stopped him. Mahado, that pathetic excuse of a protector was an irritation, his very existence, though useful, threatened him.

_He would have laugh at the irony of it_, _if he had not minded the blight to his ego._

The thoughts darkened his mood; it brought about a harsher treatment to the boy as the need to possess outweighed his patience. Bakura practically tore off the remaining garment. The savage approach revealed the thief's annoyance and his eagerness; a sound of approval was heard from the side of him.

Standing behind Mahado with his arms draped around the other's neck, Malik watched on with interest. His master's feral action made his cock twitch and he ground it onto Mahado's back. He was going to enjoy watching his lord inflict fear and pain on this particular victim, it was a pity those insolent eyes were covered. What he wouldn't give to see the look of terror on that brat's face right now!

Stark naked, Atem felt vulnerable. He could _feel_ Bakura's heated stare on his flesh, he could _sense_ his smirk as pale eyes slid over his body, leaving a trail of goose pimples in it wake. With much effort, he drew his legs up to his chest and crossed his arms over his bare torso. The action provoked his captor to express his disapproval. Atem gasped as large hands grabbed his limbs and pried them away from his body.

In his drunken daze and unable to oppose Bakura, Atem could only lie there with his face turned away from Mahado, praying he was oblivious to what was happening. He didn't want his friend to see his defilement—regardless of it being done for his sake—it was still mortifying. He suspected Bakura had planned it so he would never live down the humiliation it entailed. Once tainted, Atem knew would never be able to face his love again nor could he allow himself to be near enough to sully him.

The revelation pained him and a sob rose from the depths of his being.

Bakura heard it. Even with the face turned away, Bakura picked up the choked cry, it bared the boy's anguish..._and made him angry_. Grabbing the delicate chin in a firm grip he smashed his lips onto Atem's cutting off further sounds. Small hands tried to push him off, but was seized and pinned down. The kiss was fierce; Bakura forced a hungry tongue into the parted mouth, exploring the insides greedily. He could feel the boy try to pull back and he tightened his hold on the chin. Only when he unable to maintain the kiss did he reluctantly withdraw.

Pale eyes grazed over the swollen lips and trailed down the lithe form, resting briefly over the perked nipples before staring at the flaccid cock. Bakura smiled. "So your body has yet to understand pleasure and awaken to desire," he sneered. "I shall enjoy teaching you, Princess! I shall enjoy moulding your body until it fits mine, and mine alone—just as the name you'll be screaming in rapture will be mine also. In short, I will ensure you will want no other than me!_ I shall claim all of you_!"

"NEVER!" countered Atem, the word slurring on his wine-laced tongue rendering its venomousness ineffective. "You may bully me into submission, but you can never make me want you!"

Amused with the declaration, Bakura laughed. "We shall see about that, Princess! We shall see!" Getting off the cot, he turned and looked down at the boy, a smirk spread wide across his face. Slowly, he leant forward and placed his arms under the boy and lifted him off the bed.

With a cry of surprise, Atem flailed in panic; his blindness caused him reach out and spontaneously wound his arms tightly around Bakura's neck. He heard the latter respond with a light guffaw, he let go hastily with a pout pronounced on his face. It provoked a faint rumble of amusement from the thief.

The distance he was carried was short and it ended when he was unceremoniously thrown onto a larger bed, the same one Bakura and Malik had abandoned not long ago, he thought wryly.

The thief king leered at the suggestive pose the naked form was sprawled in, his eyes feasted voraciously on the tantalising sight and his cock stirred with appreciation. Slowly, he climbed onto the bed and crawled towards his prey; narrowed eyes watched eagerly as the tricolour head followed his movements, the boy's reaction reminded Bakura of a cornered animal confronting a predator, the fear was palpable and it was delightful. Apprehension increased when Bakura stopped and positioned himself between the parted legs, the boy's breathing all but stilled. Leaning forward he kissed Atem hard, crushing his mouth onto the latter's, whilst grinding his erection against the lean frame—the friction caused him to moan aloud.

Impatient to further his exploration and make Atem's his, he released the lips in favour of attaching it on the slender neck and sucking hard to mark it. A sharp inhalation escaped the freed lips and a whimper of pain followed when teeth sunk deep into the tender flesh. Small hands tried desperately to push him away only for it to claw his chest when the attempt failed.

The pain, where his captive dug his nails, intensified the pleasure he felt, but it also alerted him of the reason it was being inflicted. Reluctantly, Bakura pulled back and assessed the damage he had done, the corners of his mouth twitched when he saw the bloody mark he had left; the smirk tugged upwards when he looked down and saw tiny red crescents embedded into his flesh. The boy had marked him as well. Not displeased with the results, he bent down and licked the bite mark, kissing it gently when the other flinched from the contact. Finally, relinquishing the neck, the aggressor moved downwards; possessive hands skimmed over the smooth contours of the body with a wet tongue avidly in pursuit. It left a damp trail on the honey-hued skin.

Trying his best not to react, Atem clamped his jaw together and forced his thoughts elsewhere. Such defiance only encouraged his tormentor; Bakura was pleased with the challenge the boy unwittingly presented, his resistance only made taming him that much sweeter. Casually, he wrapped his hand around the boy's semi-aroused length and squeezed. Much to Atem's chagrin, his body instinctively jerked in response and it shamed him. He tried to pull away, but Bakura's firm grasp rendered his attempt futile.

"There is no escaping me now," the thief scoffed and began to pump the other's arousal in slow, even strokes, his eyes never leaving the other's face. Much to his satisfaction, he could feel the boy's cock respond to his ministrations as it wept with desire. Bending his head down, Bakura licked the salty dew that adorned the tip before engulfing its full length in his mouth, scraping the velvety flesh with his teeth as he slid down. It prompted an unexpected response, not from his victim, but from Malik.

Taken aback, Malik gasped, shocked that his master was willing to service that upstart with his mouth. All the years by the King of Thieves' side, he had never been rewarded with such treatment. It galled him to see how the little shit attained it without even trying!

"_Bastard_!" Malik cursed and was sent a deadly pale glare. The temperature around him dropped rapidly causing him to shiver involuntarily. Malik shrunk back and remained silent, watching with seething rage as his lord sucked the boy.

The quickened breathing and the taut tension in Atem's body betrayed the effects of Bakura's stimulation, yet he stubbornly kept quiet. It made the thief double his efforts. Under such relentless onslaught, the inexperienced body finally succumbed to the pleasure and Atem involuntarily pushed upwards, straining against the shackles of obstinacy that held him tethered and muted. Gulps of breath became fast and shallow, as the repressed tension building inside him threatened to burst forth.

Bakura knew the other was nearing his limit..._so he withdrew_.

A faint whine vibrated in Atem's throat from, either, disappointment or need provided Bakura with a sense of smugness. Crawling to the side of the bed, he leaned over to retrieve a small clay jar and dipped two fingers into its contents. A wide grin spread across his face as he returned to the boy.

Alert and suspicious, Atem followed Bakura the best he could, his senses wary of the devious man when he picked up the smell of peppermint in the air. Fervently hoping his ordeal was over, he was sorely disappointed when slick fingers circled around his opening and a cool sensation spread around the area, effectively numbing it. With rising fear, Atem recoiled to the touch and tried to back pedal away from the prying digits, only to be held down by the shoulders.

"I told you there's no escaping now," Bakura murmured thick in his ear, desire coating each word as he inserted a finger into the puckered entrance.

"_No_!" Atem cried out. He dug his heel into the bed and pushed back, trying to escape the unwanted intrusion, his hands striving to remove the offending limb.

_He failed miserably_.

Still intoxicated, his efforts were no match for the stronger man and his cries of struggles only served to excite the thief.

A snicker was heard from the forgotten observer, as the two on the bed fought. Not that Malik minded, he could tell his master was truly aroused; it meant soon he would turn into a beast that would savagely devour his prey. Watching Bakura intently, Malik saw the lust surface and it turned him on. Personally, he preferred the sadistic side of Bakura, but the little "Princess" may not be inclined to the feel the same. Grinning widely, his hand reached for his own arousal and he stroked himself at a leisurely pace.

Bakura, having learnt his lesson the first time, flipped Atem onto his stomach and forced him onto his knees. Settling himself between the parted legs again, the thief leaned over him so the front of his body spooned snugly against the boy's back. One hand held onto the slender wrists, pressing them down onto the bed, whilst the other worked diligently on the loosening the opening. Two fingers were employed before Bakura, exhausting his endurance, removed them and placed the tip of his erection in its place.

Fear and anxiety dragged a shaky, "_No_!" from the boy's trembling lips as the other's arousal rub against his entrance.

Indifferent to the entreaty, Bakura slowly penetrated the small body, his groans mingled with the boy's cries of pain as he pushed his way in, stretching the tight passage as it swallowed his cock.

"Fuck!" he swore loudly, realising in his haste he hadn't prepared the boy enough. "Relax your body, Princess or this will hurt a lot more."

Words of advice fell on deaf ears as pain ripped through Atem's body, causing him to grimace and cry out; he tried to crawl away, but Bakura's firm grip held him place.

Malik watched on with amusement, he could not contain his delight to see the rough treatment to which _that person_ was subjected to; it made up for the slight he suffered earlier and it appeased him. Stroking himself, he leant his face forward so his cheek touched the cheek of the bound male. "Can you hear the enticing voice of your master?" he teased in Mahado's ear. "Isn't it alluring and sweet?" Malik licked Mahado's ear and laughed. The thought of hurting Bakura's toy with the knowledge that his companion was consciously aware of his degradation entertained him. So he goaded the older boy, feeding him with lewd comments and salacious images of his young lord being fucked by the King of Thieves.

Cries of agony were soon replaced with cries of another kind; it changed in volume and pitch. Lusty moans filled the air as the sound of slapping flesh increased.

"Ah, it seems my lord has finally found the pleasure part of that brat," Malik said peevishly, his excitement cooling along with his interest.

Bakura pleased he found the erogenous part of his lover remained in that position, daring to change only the pace of his thrusts. "It feels good now, doesn't it, Princess?" he asked. "Admit you like it and moan louder for me. I promise to make it even better!"

"Die, you savage!" Atem growled in response, determined that no other sound would escape from his lips. He wasn't about to stoke the brute's swelling ego any more than he had already.

Bakura, amused with the other's boldness, cackled merrily. "We will see who will '_die_' first, shall we?" Fingers curled around the boy's cock and tugged upwards, earning a hiss from its owner.

Atem hastily suppressed the moan that rose readily to his lips. The assault on both fronts confused his senses and the foreign sensation it brought about overwhelmed him—especially in the place where the thief's arousal was rubbing. It sent shockwaves through his entire being. Heat gathered and pooled around his groin, gradually accumulating until it threatened to burst forth. Ragged breaths fused with shallow rasps, made breathing difficult and Atem knew, from the time he observed Hasan, his end was near. The steady pumping of his length drew forth his release until he could feel it surface.

"_NO_!"

Atem flung out the word in exasperation. Whether it was to deny his impending climax...to reject Bakura's claims of feeling good...or to prevent his voice from rising into a chorus of moans and mewls like the other predicted, he desperately masked his true intentions in that one-word dismissal.

Voice strained as his body strained, he filled Bakura's hand with his release...

_He came_.

Bringing his hand up to his lips, the King of Thieves lapped up the salty nectar, savouring every bit, whilst his body continued to plunder the spent one.

With a brusque snort, Malik pushed himself off Mahado and began to gather his things. Swiftly dressing up, the feeling of annoyance added to his ire because he felt he was cheated of a good show.

Oblivious and lost in his thoughts, the frustrated man did not notice the tethered male stirring. Brown eyes slowly regained focus and it widened to the sight that greeted him. It compelled him to speak.

"A-At—" Mahado forced himself to utter the desired words, it came out barely above a whisper, "A-Attack...m-master's...assailant, _kill him_!"

Malik immediately spun around and ran to Mahado, but it was too late! In a flash, Mahado's guardian spirit appeared and discharged a thin beam at Bakura.

"Watch out, Bakura!" yelled Malik, watching helplessly as the attack closed in on the thief king.

Bakura's head turned, his pales eyes stared at the beam as it neared him. He looked unaffected, but for the slight upturn on the corners of his lips.

The beam was countered before it reached the target; its dispersion had an adverse effect on the one who called the attack. A thin line of blood trickled down Mahado's chin_—_it was the price of his failure. With groan, the wounded male lost all consciousness.

"_Mahado_!" Atem shrieked in panic, his head steered to the direction of the much-loved voice.

Concern made him reach for the blindfold, but long fingers gripped his wrist and squeezed it. "Remove it and I will gorge his eyes out!" warned Bakura, the threat dripped with malice. Next, sending a thunderous look at Malik, he roared, "Get him out of here and ensure his injuries are taken care of. I don't want the bastard to die on me before I've had my fill of his master!"

With a mock bow, Malik pulled out a small hand dagger from the side of his belt and slice through the linen bonds. Mahado freed from his ties, slumped forward. With an exaggerated sigh, Malik grabbed the senseless male from under his arms and hauled him out of the room. The sound of cursing could be heard from the labouring man as he disappeared.

"No! Mahado!" Atem repeated, only this time through a choked sob. "Let me see him, _please_..."

Long tanned fingers threaded through the spiky mane, closed around a fistful of hair and tugged hard, snapping the head backwards. "Say his name again and I will cut out his tongue little by little!" the thief cautioned. "I can't have you looking, speaking or _thinking_ about another, whilst you are with me! You are mine and it will do you good to remember it. I will not mistreat you, Princess, but at the same time do not anger me or you will find me most disagreeable."

Atem responded with a faint hiss, but otherwise, remained silent.

With the boy's compliance, good-humour returned to the thief once more and he chuckled. "Now, where were we?" he asked, as hands glided down the arched back and rested on the taut rump he was still inside of. Pulling out his member until only the tip was embedded, he slammed back in again, burying his cock into the fleshy folds with one hard thrust, with a groan of satisfaction, he continued with his onslaught until he felt his climax nearing. Flipping the boy on his back, Bakura pulled off the blindfold.

With his sight restored, Atem blinked his eyes rapidly; it scanned the empty room briefly before alighting on the man above him.

Vibrant blood-hued eyes locked onto pale-coloured ones.

Staring into those burning, crimson pools incited Bakura to heated frenzy. Short grunts complemented each lunge as he drove deeper into the boy, a hand stretched out and caressed the flushed face.

_Atem_… The boy was beautiful.

It drove Bakura over the edge and he came, spilling his seed inside the virgin body with a few short, erratic thrusts. Spent and gasping slightly, Bakura collapsed on top of the boy; his face buried in the latter's neck.

Feeling sleepy from the wine and the rigorousness of the copulation, eyes heavy with fatigue began to close, shutting out the intense crimson gaze. Through his drowsy state, Atem was vaguely aware of lips pressed gently against his and the body that covered his body getting up. Atem felt its loss keenly.

Devoid of the warmth, Atem whimpered and hugged himself, his mind had already drifted off when he felt something slip over his thumb. Cracking open a half-lidded eye, Atem peered curiously at the item decorating his hand.

_It was a ring_.

The thick gold band, laden with precious gems, had a picture of a dragon carved around. The dragon was the majestic and graceful God of the Heavens, Osiris.

Familiarity wracked the exhausted mind and an image of the ring appeared in his mind's eye. It was adorned on the finger of a large, warm hand_—_a hand, he had known all his life...

_Father?_

Eyes immediately flew open revealing a blazing look of hatred, all signs of weariness vanished with the recognition of his family's heirloom.

_The ring was his father's_!

With an ear-piercing shriek, Atem shot up and launched himself at the King of Thieves...

~TBC~

O-o-O-o-O

**A/N**: _Right then, I hoped this chapter was acceptable considering its tardy update. If I was to be honest, it wasn't how I wanted it to be, but no matter how I wrote and re-wrote it, the result was, more or less, the same. Bakura couldn't be that brutal, bastard rapist I thought he would be and it confused me. Furthermore, I wasn't happy about the structuring of the chapter and its incoherency—but then, it could be me being difficult after working on and off it for two weeks~! Either way, I hope this did not disappoint too much or mar your overall enjoyment~._

_For those who are not aware, I will be away in the US between: 3rd April to 13th April. During those dates, response may be slow or non-existent, so please forgive me I cannot reply to you, I promise I will get back to you upon my return._

_Thanks for you patience and thoughts on this chapter would be appreciated._

_In the next chapter__:_

"_So, I gather he's found out about his father's death?" Malik remarked caustically, watching the thief king with acute interest. "How did the poor princess take it? Did you comfort him thoroughly?"_

_Bakura paused briefly in front of the shorter male—then without warning he seized him by the neck and effectively shoved him into the wall—his face contorted with rage as he faced Malik. "Did I not specify my desire to have the boy's father apprehended alive?" he snarled. "Did I not order you to ensure my instructions were heeded?"_

_Choking from the tight grip on his neck, Malik responded with a feeble dip of his head._

_Pale eyes narrowed to thin, blade-like slits and teeth bared in fury. "Then how the fuck, did the old man end up dead?" he seethed. "Find the culprit who did it and bring him to me. I will personally carry out his punishment. Understood?"_

_O-o-O-o-O_

_*_Shenti - Skirt


	5. Chapter 5

_I would like to apologise for the tardy update, but KaiYami seemed to have taken over my life hence the late post. Please accept my humble apologies as I offer up this uber-long chapter in return for your forgiveness. Please enjoy~._

_**Warning**__: LEMON AHEAD! YES, THERE'S SMUT IN THIS CHAPTER AS WELL SO PROCEED WTH CAUTION! Otherwise, it's the usual: typos, grammar, and verbosity..._

_**Disclaimer**__**: **__I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh!_

O-o-O-o-O

Devoid of the warmth, Atem whimpered and hugged himself, his mind had already drifted off when he felt something slip over his thumb. Cracking open a half-lidded eye, Atem peered curiously at the item decorating his hand.

_It was a ring_.

The thick gold band, laden with precious gems, had a picture of a dragon carved around. The dragon was the majestic and graceful God of the Heavens, Osiris.

Familiarity wracked the exhausted mind and an image of the ring appeared in his mind's eye. It was adorned on the finger of a large, warm hand_—_a hand, he had known all his life...

_Father?_

Eyes immediately flew open revealing a blazing look of hatred, all signs of weariness vanished with the recognition of his family's heirloom.

_The ring was his father's_!

With an ear-piercing shriek, Atem shot up and launched himself at the King of Thieves. A sharp pain shot up his lower back, but he dismissed it—just as he disregarded the white milky fluid that trickled down his thighs. All he could think about was the misery brought about from the possible loss of his only parent—the parent he left behind on the promise they would meet up again. The pledge had kept him hopeful.

As he lunged towards the thief, he knew, in his heart, it was hopeless. He would have laughed at his own wasted act of boldness had the situation not been so dire. His inexperience in a physical confrontation showed, all he could do was to lash out with all his might and hoped his fists and nails connected somewhere on the bare flesh. He desperately wanted to hurt the man who hurt his father and it was that desire, which fuelled the violence.

Bakura was taken aback as the boy threw himself at him; unprepared for the sudden response his instincts kicked in, unconsciously summoning his spirit beast to neutralise the threat.

Diabound materialised and effortlessly batted the boy away with a long sweep of his arm. The counter-attack sent Atem flying in the direction he came from, a groan escaping his lips as his body slammed heavily against the wall and rebounded off it. He landed back on the bed. Having his breath knocked out of him, he gasped for air whilst sprawled on his front. His body ached mercilessly.

Bakura was thrown with the boy's behaviour; his expression teetered between disbelief and amusement. "And what, may I ask, did I do to deserve such enthusiastic attention, Princess?" he asked, his tone light and airy. "If you didn't wanted me to leave, you could have simply said so."

Atem lifted his head, his eyes burned with hatred. "Go and die a thousand deaths, you murderer!" he spat venomously as he fisted the linen beneath him, the skin stretched taut over his knuckles. "I will never forgive you for this!"

Bakura crossed his arms over his chest and cocked a pale brow at the irate boy, "Oh, and pray enlighten this 'murderer' of his crime. Just what is it I am being accused of that warrant such unexpected _passion_ from you?" Sarcasm rolled off his tongue and permeated the words. He was annoyed because he thought he had the boy subdued.

Crimson orbs darkened to a blood-red hue and Bakura shivered to the change, his lover looked almost feral..._and wild_. He itched to tame the beast that glared at him. It was so predatory, so tantalising...

"Where is my father?" demanded Atem, abruptly jarring the thief from his lewd thoughts. "What have you done with him?"

A look of surprised flittered across Bakura's face, his lust temporarily forgotten, as realisation dawned on him: the attack and the accusation...it was triggered from the ring. Curiosity drew him towards the bed and its spirited occupant.

Atem swallowed as he watched the advancing figure, his heartbeat pounded with each step that shortened the distance between them. He wanted to show his defiance to his enemy, he _needed_ to show that he didn't fear him, but it was easier said than done. Atem could see how Bakura was able to elicit fear from men with his presence alone. Aided with that beast that dwelled within, he was formidable. In his blinding rage, he had foolishly forgotten about it; the treatment he received from the monster made him inwardly wince and his back throb more.

Staring down at the stretched out figure, Bakura observed the various emotions flicker across the youth's face. It was amusing to see the futile attempt to hide his fear behind a façade of open defiance, and his resistance was most agreeable and arousing. Unexpectedly, he grabbed Atem by the wrist with one strong hand and reached for the ring with the other. Realising what Bakura was about to do, Atem balled his hand into a tight fist with his thumb tucked inside the encircling digits. He wasn't about to relinquish the ring without a fight!

Atem's response informed Bakura all he needed to know. The adornment was of value to him or he wouldn't have held on to it so stubbornly. Moreover, it prompted the boy to ask about his father, which meant...

Bakura stiffened, his mood darkening. "Are you implying your father is dead and that I killed him?" he growled.

"Why else would you have this ring in your possession?" Atem accused, "This is our family heirloom! Father would never willingly part with it—he would rather die first!"

Pale eyes slanted at the declaration, the news did not please him at all. He had left explicit instructions to have the old man captured alive because he was the key to Atem's submission; it was the sole reason for his clemency. But all thoughts of the merchant fled him when he discovered the relationship between the boy and his retainer. It was a connection, which Bakura exploited to his advantage so it mattered not if there was no news on the old man; he assumed the sly merchant had managed to escape when information of the subject was not brought up.

He was obviously wrong!

Releasing the limb with a sigh, he looked at the boy gravely. "My men were told to spare him at all cost," he divulged his angry companion, "that he was to be captured alive."

"_You lie_!" Atem shot back, thumping a fist on the bed in exasperation. "Why should I believe you?"

Bakura peered wearily at the boy and shrugged, "How can you be sure he's dead? He may have escaped to somewhere safe," the thief offered, his patience fraying with the boy's mulish persistence, "just because you have the ring does not signify a thing!"

"You are wrong!" This time two fists pounded the bed angrily. Atem wished wholeheartedly it were the thief he was inflicting the damage on. "This ring will only belong to me when father has passed to the afterlife...because the only way to remove it was to sever the finger it adorned. You must have had him killed!"

Crimson eyes, opaque with hatred, stared up at the King of Thieves. Although the latter found them pleasing, it was also disquieting. "Why would I want him dead if I was to use him to ensure your subservience, Princess," he purred, inching closer to the figure on bed. The cold look in his eyes contradicted the smile he wore.

Atem sat up and began to scoot backwards, his wide eyes never leaving his captor. He was very aware of Bakura's arousal as he climbed on the bed. It stood rigid and proud. Fear trickled in the youth and he gulped, trying to swallow the trepidation, which rose from the pit of his stomach as scenes of their coupling flashed in his mind. It was obvious the King of Thieves wanted a repeat of their union and the thought alarmed him.

Bakura's gaze steered to the subtle movement of the slender throat, the gentle bob as it dipped and rose implied anxiety. He secretly applauded the boy for putting up a brave front, but it was all for naught. His eyes were wide with alarm and his expression, filled with dread, betrayed his fear. Nonetheless, the tilt of the chin and the grim line of determination on his lips spoke otherwise; it amused the thief to see the contradicting elements so evidently on display.

_How would he react if I touched him_?

Desire surged to the surface at the thought of claiming that lithe body once more and his cock twitched with eagerness. The flare of anger, the scuffle and the boy's subsequent rebelliousness had aroused him. Initially, he planned on letting the boy rest and recover from his ordeal, however, with those vivid flaming eyes scorching him to the very core, his decision evaporated like water in a desert, leaving him parched and gasping. He crept towards his prey on his hands and knees, enjoying the way the victim backed away from him with his legs slightly apart, exposing the lower body...tempting him. He eyed the dried trail of his essence staining the tanned thighs and he licked his lips. He was hungry. _He was unbearably hungry_!

Atem started when his back hit the wall. He was trapped! All he could do was watch the advancing figure edge closer to him, the nakedness and starved look made the predator bestial. His heart pounded in his chest in spite of his feigned boldness, jolting painfully when the thief halted an arm's length away, his body hovering possessively over his. Atem watched with horror as Bakura raised a hand towards him...

He shrunk back; he didn't want the thief to claim him with hands tainted with his father's blood. "Do not touch me!" he cried, his demand accentuated with loath and disgust. "Do not touch me with those filthy murdering hands!"

Bakura paused. The words did not deter him...far from it. Dropping his hands back on the bed, he leaned closer to Atem. "I told you, whatever happened to your father had nothing to do with me."

"And I said, you lie!"

Bakura smirked and inclined his body forward, he was adamant for contact with the boy who was just as adamant to evade it. The close proximity impelled Atem into action. With one fluid motion, he slid under the thief's body and swung off the bed. His movements were agile and swift. Catching his captor unawares, it gave him a head start on his escape...

_Or so he thought_.

A hand shot out and grasped his wrist firmly. Panic assailed Atem as he turned and fought back, attempting to pry the entwining digits off with his free hand. When that failed, he tried twisting it away, only to be met with fingers curling around the limb in a tighter grip. The youth curbed the cry of pain by biting on his lips.

"Let go of me, brute!" yelled Atem, tugging his arm and leaning his body back with all the strength he could muster. The pull on his arm was painful; the way the fingers dug into it even more so, but his need to be free overcame all else. He even ignored the fear his limb would be torn from his body should the struggle continued. It was clear Bakura wasn't about to relinquish the hold he had over him. In fact, the thief's amusement bridled him; his laughter rose over the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears, mocking his demand and feeble resistance. It made Atem's blood boil. The murderer's touch seared into his flesh, but the laugh singed his pride, reminding him of his helplessness, his inadequacy to save himself and his loved ones.

Looking about for means of assistance, Atem saw the small clay jar of oil on the floor. Swooping down, he stretched out his free hand and retrieved it. Holding it tightly, he slammed it on the ground with a cry of purpose.

The pungent smell of peppermint pervaded the air as its vessel shattered into fragments. The substance spilled on the small hand, which held a large piece of the broken earthenware; it seeped into a deep gash in his palm, burning it with a fierce intensity.

Straightening up, Atem brandished the jagged piece of terracotta threateningly and repeated his demand. "Let go of me now!" he spat vehemently; his glare, suffused with hatred, rested boldly on the other's face.

Bakura met the challenging gaze and a smile. Without a word, he pulled the boy and swung him around, throwing him roughly onto the bed. It was gratifying to see the look of surprise on his face as he landed on his back. Bakura held the captured wrist firmly in his grip and pushed it onto the bed next to the tricolour head. Looming over the small figure, he stared at the terrified boy and grinned. "And what will you do to me if I _don't_ release you, Princess?" he purred, pressing his naked chest on the sharp piece of pottery Atem still wielded; stabbing himself in the place of his beating heart. "You know very well, you will never be able to escape—not with the rodent incapacitated."

Atem watched dumbfounded as the jagged fragment pierced through the tanned skin and dug deep into the flesh. A drop of red surfaced and beaded around the makeshift weapon. Bakura's expression did not change; instead, the pale gaze dared _him_ to take it one step further.

The boy flinched, earning a look of satisfaction from the thief. "Kill me and there will be no one to protect you and your precious servant," Bakura stated. "Is it not obvious that I am the one standing between you and my men? I doubt Malik will have qualms about throwing you _or_ _him_ around the camp for everyone's enjoyment should anything happen to me. You will find him most disagreeable and ruthless."

"But, my father—"

"Was not supposed to have died! His death would not benefit me at all, so why would I kill him? If you insist on avenging him then I will indulge you, a deep slash across my throat will suffice, though I cannot assure your safety thereafter."

Faced with the dilemma, Atem's clenched tighter around the splinter he was holding causing it to embed deeper into the wound. Blood dripped from the shard and ran down his arm, it alleviated a little of the pain he felt in his heart only for it to revive up again when he felt the weight of the ring on his captured hand. It mirrored the weight in his heart a hundred-fold. He was tempted to run the sharp edge across his own throat; it would be so easy to end it there and then, but...

_Mahado_.

He couldn't abandon him to a lonely and cruel existence, not if he had the power to protect him.

_Father, I am so sorry_, he whispered in his heart, a finger lovingly stroked the ring on his thumb. _Please forgive me for not being able to avenge your death. I am not worthy to be your son._

Defeated, Atem slowly dropped the raised hand to his side and turned his head away. He remained silent as hot tears gathered and spilled down his ashen face. He made no attempt to brush them away nor did he try to stem the flow. All he could do was contain the sobs, which threatened to overwhelm him. He knew if he allowed his grief to become vocal, he would never be able to stop.

Bakura watched the boy's silent admission to defeat, he watched with fascination the transition from defiance to utter hopelessness. Atem cut a woeful figure as he lay there wretched and broken; his shoulders shaking with suppressed sobs. It pleased him to see the youth finally compliant; yet, he missed the aggression he showed too. Atem was more engaging than he thought possible. The enjoyment that can be had with him was endless; the boy was unpredictable as sand being blown across the desert by the wind. Just when he thought he had him figured out, Atem would do something out of the ordinary. It kept his interest keen.

Prying the broken fragment from the latter's hand and disposing it on the floor, Bakura proceeded to lick the cut. His warm tongue lapped up the scarlet stain on the palm then swept down the arm with relish, a damp trail marking its path. When all the blood had been removed, he pulled back slightly and looked at the silent boy. "Now you must tend to my wound," he instructed.

Atem flashed the thief a look of contempt, but obeyed. Propping himself on an elbow, he lifted his head towards the cut on the chest and gingerly licked the blood from it. The rich coppery taste filled his mouth, making him grimace and shudder.

Bakura moaned as the moist tongue flicked and swirled across his skin, inadvertently arousing him with its teasing warmth and playful dance. His hand reached under the tricolour head and held it there, loathing its release when all traces of blood had been cleaned away. His expression softened as he gently pushed down the boy and straddled him. Leaning over, he kissed the swollen eyes and licked the dried tears tracks from the flushed face. The salty taste lingered in his mouth as he moved to capture the soft lips, parting them with his tongue to gain entry. He did not mind the other not responding, the indifference did not discourage his oral assault.

Atem lay there, still and silent, as his enemy devoured his mouth and then his body. The hot lips and tongue moved along his frame trying to coax a response from it. The victim knew the latter would get his wish sooner or later, it was only a matter of time before his traitorous body betray him to the pleasures he, so wantonly, surrendered to earlier on. His agitation increased when calloused hands roamed the length of his body, caressing the curves and slopes of his flesh without inhibition, and touching him where none had ever dared.

Heat radiated off their naked forms, mingling with their scent and sweat. They had shared bodies, bodily fluids and blood. To Atem, it spoke of an intimacy he had not thought possible, but was willing to share with the one he loved. He would have gladly given himself to Mahado had the gentle youth asked it of him.

_But it was too late now_.

Now he belonged to a possessive and cruel man who was kneeling between his parted legs, poised with his rigid length in the crevice of his rear.

Atem closed his eyes and bit down on the inside of his lip, bracing himself for the inevitable pain with abated breath. He grimaced when he felt the tip of the thief's erection breach his entrance, causing his body to stiffen.

"Still so tight, Princess," breathed Bakura as he eased his way into the slick passage, still lined with the residue of their prior session. He did not prepare the boy, but he paused to allow the other to adjust to his wide girth. "Relax or it will hurt more," he advised. The statement earned him a fierce glare from the silent male beneath. Bakura chuckle as he began moving.

The thief started out slow, his movements were unhurried and evenly paced. Since the boy was solely his now, leisure dictated his actions. With each thrust, he felt the tension melt away from the unwilling body. It was still early for Atem to voice his pleasure, but that was fine with Bakura; he had all the time in the world to make the boy mewl or scream. He was patient for now.

Pressing the legs back against the small chest, Bakura lowered his body and dove his cock deeper into the fleshy folds, appreciating the depth the position it afforded him. He snickered when he heard a soft gasp from the boy, it encouraged him to wrap his fingers around the other's semi-hard member and pump it to the tempo of his quickening pace. In response, Atem planted his feet on the bed and arched his back. The deep thrusts, coupled with the steady tugging of his cock, had him reeling from the sensations. Losing complete control, the youth gave in to the desire that overwhelmed him. His body rebelled against his mind, its betrayal evident in the way he thrust upward into the other's hand as he was pleasured. Sliding his feet along the bed, he curled his toes. The familiar heat began accumulating in his groin, threatening to spill from inside. He knew he was near his release; a few more strokes and he'd be...

Bakura halted his hand and keeping a tight grip on the stiff appendage; the effect pulled a whimper from the disappointed male. Flushed from the stimulation and panting from the overexertion, Atem peered anxiously at his tormentor through half-lidded eyes. Bakura grinned; his pet was so close to his climax that he could _feel_ it, but he didn't want him to come yet.

Picking up Atem's legs, the thief king placed them over his shoulders and resumed his onslaught—plunging into the narrow furnace at a different angle. The boy let out a choked cry, his fingers clawed at the linen beneath him. The grin, which Bakura wore, widened. With his free hand, Bakura found purchase on a bare shoulder and used it to simultaneously push the lithe frame towards his own whilst slamming into it. The pushing and pulling of their bodies mimicked the movements of the sea's tide. He observed the boy thrash with wild abandon as his hoarse cries and the sound of slapping flesh filled the room. It satisfied him to know the other had temporarily forgotten about the loss of his father.

_Atem_.

Bakura called out the name silently, he was approaching his climax as his laboured breath and frenetic thrusting indicated. The near-sobbing and writhing body beneath him was, also, pleading for release; it made Bakura ram that much harder and faster into it.

_Atem_!

Freeing his grip on the boy's engorged shaft, Bakura gave a couple of fast, hard and erratic thrusts before emptying his seed into the abused passage. Stilling his movements to catch his breath, he felt the boy beneath him tense and expel his own release on his heaving chest with a soundless cry and shudder. Then all was still.

Atem had passed out from the strain.

Pulling out of the unconscious male, Bakura looked at Atem and shook his head. The blissful oblivion would provide the boy a brief respite from his grief, although he was sure the guilt for sleeping with the enemy would consume him when he awoke. The thief king huffed in annoyance. He had a feeling the subject of the father was far from over, especially with that cursed ring as a reminder. It was so tiresome.

Lying sideways next to the sleeping figure, Bakura pulled the cooling body towards his own until their chests touched; he, then, threaded his arm under neck and rested his hand on the small of the back. Contented, Bakura turned his thoughts to the old merchant. It prompted him to remove the ring Atem, so preciously, clung onto. The lax hand yielded its treasure without fuss—it made a mockery of what the boy did to retain it.

Hugging the sleeping figure, he continued to rub circles on the smooth back as he studied the ring. The item was very beautiful, the design was intricate and finely detailed, and it caught his eye immediately. His position as leader meant he got first pick on the spoils of the raid, and it was this he chose. He thought it befitted his latest acquisition.

Restless to seek out his tethered beauty, he curbed his curiosity and renounced the need to query about its origin. The merchant was wealthy enough to possess an abundance of such treasures that it didn't occur to him its significance.

_Malik_.

Bakura was sure Malik knew what happened to the ring's owner, he was certain the latter deliberately withheld the information to spite him for choosing what he wanted. The thief king was not oblivious to the other's avarice for pretty things. Malik had eyed the ring greedily, his disappointment was all to clear when he realised it had been snatched from his grasp. Deprivation made the covetous man malicious and bold.

Bakura pinched lips with displeasure; such show of insolence would not be tolerated. A stern word was in order for his second-in-command, he thought grimly.

Placing a light kiss on the ruby lips, Bakura slid his arms away from Atem and carefully got up. After covering the boy's nakedness, he saw to his own. Dressing swiftly, he made his way to the door—pausing only to give one last look at his treasure. With a small smile lifting the corners of his lips, the King of Thieves pulled opened the door and walked out.

O-o-O-o-O

Malik was waiting for him outside the room, his slender form leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. Beside him, on the other side of the door, stood the tall dark figure of Rishid.

On spying Bakura, the smaller male unfolded his arms and pushed himself off the support. He turned towards his master with a neutral expression.

"So, I gather he's found out about his father's death?" Malik remarked caustically, watching the thief king with acute interest. "How did the poor princess take it? Did you comfort him thoroughly?"

Bakura paused briefly in front of the shorter male—then, without warning, he seized him by the neck and effectively shoved him into the wall—his face contorted with rage as he faced Malik. "Did I not specify my desire to have the boy's father apprehended alive?" he snarled. "Did I not order you to ensure my instructions were heeded?"

Choking from the tight grip on his neck, Malik responded with a feeble dip of his head.

Pale eyes narrowed to thin blade-like slits and teeth bared in fury. "Then how the fuck, did the old man end up dead?" he seethed. "Find the culprit who did it and bring him to me. I will personally carry out his punishment. Understood?"

Again, Malik dipped his head and Bakura released his death grip. The spluttering male dropped onto his knees, a hand nursing his bruised neck.

Dismissing the disfavoured male without another word, Bakura walked away from him and turned his attention to Rishid.

Malik shook his head; it took him a while to get his breath back. "I don't think that is possible," he choked out between gasps.

Bakura spun on his heel and glared at the speaker. "Oh, and why is that?" he demanded, his voice tight with suppressed rage.

"He was already dead by the time I found him in the stables," Malik replied weakly.

Bakura frowned; the news troubled him, "How did he die?"

Getting up, Malik shrugged. "Possibly, from the smoke? I am not certain," he answered vaguely. To be honest he wasn't sure how the old man died; nor did he care, though he wasn't about to admit it. When he arrived in the stables, the lifeless body was already sprawled on the dirt ground; the grey face, devoid of life, stared wide-eyed in fear, his mouth hanging open as it if it was still gulping for air. Malik pulled a face at the recollection; it certainly wasn't a pretty sight. "The stable was burning rapidly when I got there. I only had enough time to identify him and make my escape before the place collapsed. I barely managed to escape with my life!" Malik pouted slightly with the final words, he really did risk his life..._for what_? So Bakura could have leverage over his fuck toy! It vexed him immensely!

"Well, you had enough time to relieve the old man his ring, so don't give me shit about barely escaping!" Bakura retorted tersely. "So, why did you not report his death to me, knowing I had an interest in him?"

"I would have told you had you wanted to know," came the indignant reply, "but you didn't seem to care after you returned with your two hostages! Let's say you were so preoccupied that nothing mattered except your lust for him, otherwise you would have picked up on the ring. The Thief King _I know_ would never allow himself to be so foolishly distracted."

Bakura snorted at the lengthy reproach, his lips tugged upwards as he recalled his beautiful 'distraction' lying passed out on the bed; he would gladly act the fool if he could claim him again and again.

Malik saw the smile and it irked him. Slinking up to Bakura with his hips rolling sensuously and his temper in check, he smirked seductively. He was pleased the latter was observing him with rapt attention; those pastel-hued eyes were fixed on the exaggerated swagger as he neared. Standing in front of his lord, Malik placed a hand on the tanned chest and pressed his body onto Bakura's. "Can't it be just the two of us again?" he purred. "Am I not enough for you?"

Bakura leant down and crushed his lips on to Malik's, effectively cutting off further remonstrations. The smaller male wound his arms around his lover's neck and feverishly returned the kiss.

"The brat's nothing but trouble," Malik insisted between the smothering kisses. "Get rid of him before you become too attached."

Immediately, the smaller man was shoved aside, the force and the abruptness of the act made him lose his balance and he staggered back a few steps. His face bore a look of surprise.

"Are you suggesting I cannot handle a mere slip of a boy?" the thief king snarled. "That I am infatuated like a love-sick fool?"

"Are you not?" Malik challenged. "Then prove it! Give him to the men; let them have their fun with hi—." Malik never got to finish his sentence. Bakura's backhand connected with his face, the impact sent him crashing into the wall, stunning him. Slightly dazed, he shook his head to rid of the ensuing dizziness, a small groan escaped from a split lip. Rishid moved to aid his comrade, but was stopped by Bakura's outstretched arm barring his way. The latter retreated a few steps back and watched Malik shakily prop himself on the wall for support, while glowering at his assailant.

"No one approaches the boy and his servant without my consent, do you understand, Malik?" warned Bakura, his tone deadly, his words absolute. "Should anyone _touch_ the boy or the rodent without my permission, I will have Diabound tear out the offender's limbs and protruding body parts bit by bit! No one is exempt from this punishment, is that clear?"

Malik bit back the barbed retort that rose in his throat and gave a reluctant nod.

Bakura smiled. "Good, have my orders conveyed through the camp," he stated, his humour restored. Next, he turned his attention to the quiet man behind him and proceeded to give him a different set of instructions. "Rishid, I want you to clean the boy's wound and clear up the mess he's made in the room, removing anything he can hurt himself; I don't want the boy to harm himself when no one's around. And keep the doors secured at all times. We wouldn't him escaping now, would we? Not after all that trouble I went to acquire him!"

Rishid silently acknowledged the orders with a deep bow.

Grunting a response, Bakura continued, "I will give you the responsibility of tending to the boy and the pest from now on. Ensure no one, and I mean no one, is to approach the pair," he gestured to the man behind him, "..._him especially_!"

"So you don't trust me with your precious _princess_?" Malik sneered, bristling from the rebuke. "How disappointing, my lord."

Bakura turned and stared at the embittered male, his lips set in a grim line. "Jealousy doesn't become you, Malik!" he concluded. "Do not think you are excused from my wrath should you decide to provoke it. You wouldn't want to discover how unforgiving I could be, should you oppose me. I will not be lenient—_even for you_! Just so you know, if anything happens to Atem, regardless if it were your fault or not, you will be blamed and punished for it. This is the only way to safeguard the boy from your resentment and spite. Remember it well, Malik."

Without another word or a backward glance, Bakura turned and strode off leaving Malik incensed from the stinging words.

"We will see about _that_, my lord," he murmured to himself, his eyes never leaving the retreating figure.

~TBC~

O-o-O-o-O

_**A/N**_: _Many thanks to those who took the time to review in the last chapter, know that it was your thoughts that kept me guilty as hell when I haven't worked on it for ages. I will try to work faster, so keep your thoughts coming in. Eventually it will bite my ass into action~!_

_A special thanks to our very own YGO!-in-house-Egyptian-nut, s2Teennovelist, for pointing out an Egyptian skirt is called a __Shenti. I am grateful for that valuable piece of information._

_Anyways, I hope this chappy wasn't too disappointing—at least, I hope it was worth the two months wait~. Ahahahahaha... *cough*_

O-o-O-o-O

_Here's a little teaser to the next chapter:_

"_What about him?" snapped Bakura; the mere mention of the pest was enough to sour his mood. Keeping him alive went against everything he wanted, he desired nothing more than to blast the pest to extinction, but he couldn't. _He_ was the one who held Atem bound and subservient to him, because _he_ one the one who held Atem's heart. The knowledge dented his ego and blighted his pride. It fucking nettled him!_

_The tall man silently observed his revered leader with attentive eyes, scrutinising the traces of emotions, which flittered across his face as the thief king struggled to remain calm. Never failing to get the same reaction from his master where Mahado was concerned, the poor youth incurred Bakura's wrath with his obscurity alone. This made Rishid's task very troublesome, he knew he wasn't going to get a favourable response to the present problem. _

_Inwardly sighing, Rishid balled his fists and went straight to the point; it was futile to mask the issue with unnecessary words and actions. He needed the answer to his dilemma before it is too late. Opening his mouth, he let the morbid words spill out in the open, "I think Mahado is dying."_

_O-o-O-o-O_

__Until next time...__


	6. Chapter 6

_My humble apologies for the tardy update, I know you must all despair of me by now, especially those who are solely following this fic. Know that it is your continual interest and constant support that has made me feel shitty for not updating sooner. I hope this chapter will provide a little solace and, perhaps, make you forgive me a little for being bad at updating... Sorry~._

_**Warnings**__: A horny Malik, pissy Bakura and angsty Atem. The usual blah applies~_

_**Disclaimer**__**: **__I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh_

O-o-O-o-O

Atem stood by the window and stared out into the distance. The opening was located high on the wall so he had to tiptoe to look out; it was also smaller than what he was used to. He suspected the room was chosen specifically for his imprisonment, there was no way he could escape through the gap no matter how slender he was. A sigh escaped the resigned male as he rested his hands on each side of the window, his straining eyes shuttering on the view outside to subdue the desire for freedom he could not have, but continuously yearned for. Leaning heavily on his splayed arms, he allowed his thoughts to aimlessly wander.

It has been several days since their capture; Atem had counted the number of sunsets to keep track of the passing time. Only the thought of Mahado kept him sane whilst he was fettered to the Thief King, he hadn't seen Mahado since he was dragged away by Malik, but Rishid had assured him he was alive and safe. His beloved was the sole reason he was willing to endure the ordeal he was subjected to. The tall man informed him of Bakura's orders, that it was passed around to ensure no one was to go near them without their lord's permission. The instructions were heeded and followed, Atem remained confined and undisturbed.

Save for Rishid and the Thief King's visits, solitude was his constant companion.

Bakura frequented him often during the day, his demands no less punishing than that of the nights they spent together. Atem would either pass out from the exertion or be aching and incapacitated for a lengthy period of time. Much to the boy's chagrin, Bakura wasn't always gentle with him nor was he showing signs of yielding his favourite pastime. Atem had hoped Bakura would tire of him, he prayed the novelty would wear off and the latter would seek his pleasures elsewhere, but if the vigour and passion of last night's copulation was any indication to go by, his captor wasn't quite bored with him yet.

A heated flush spread across Atem's face at the recollection and he shifted slightly causing the permanent ache that resided in his lower body to flare up. He winced at the sensation and scowled, willing the pain to subside back into a dull throb again.

_If I plead discomfort, would I get away with not dining with the crowd_, he wondered?

He still hadn't gotten used to the company of thieves. The smell, the noise, the unruly rowdiness and the vulgarity made him out of place and uncomfortable, and the leers were unsettling. Sitting beside Bakura and sharing from his plate had established his status as the thief's favourite. The closeness and constant touches from the thief had drove home the point for those oblivious to the warnings spread through the camp. _Atem is mine, _his actions announced. Such blatant declaration relieved and vexed Atem to no ends. It made him feel safe to know the others will not touch him, but it meant there was no escaping their master either.

"You are fucked either way, Princess" Bakura told him slyly. "The only difference is _who_ exactly is doing it to you."

Still it didn't stop the lecherous looks sent his way or the crude sniping remarks by Malik, which greatly amused the crowd. Atem was used to being the centre of attention—being the young master of an affluent household had ensured he was anything but—except now the attention he received was nothing short of humiliation. The merriment from the degrading comments aimed at him was gained at his expense. Painfully aware of his position in this tight-woven group, he knew why he was derided. Being their master's whore gained him very little respect.

Reluctantly his eyes opened and he reached into his loose-fitting tunic to pull out the piece of thread that hung around his neck, his fingers caressing the ring attached to it. After begging a displeased Bakura for its return, he ensured the ring was discreetly secured on his person at all times, removing it only when he removed his clothes for Bakura. He knew he was unworthy of the ring, but he loathed renouncing the one thing left from his father.

Atem's hand enclosed around the ring in a greedy fist, surrendering guiltily to the comfort the item exuded as his mind drifted to his other comfort…his loved one.

"Mahado," he whimpered, resting his temple on the rough surface of the wall, "what am I to do? How I can stay strong without you beside me? Tell me how to bear this when I miss you so much."

He beat the wall with his clenched hands, his anguish spilling out in a rare outburst of violence. With a cry of despair, he spun around and threw himself onto the bed; his body sprawled listlessly on its front with his face turned to the side. His eyes roamed the sparsely furnished room; staring at the faint traces of shadows the surrounding light was overwhelming. He was like the shadows, weak and vulnerable, relying on Bakura for survival, forced to keep his enemy's interest keen for his and Mahado's sake. But it didn't make the experience any easier; he hated all contact with the thief.

Atem's senses sharpened when he caught the sound of approaching footsteps from a distance. His ears could vaguely make out the sound, it was light but assured, each step spoke of confidence that reflected its owner's manner. Atem was familiar with the nearing footfalls, it was its departure he rarely heard...he was usually unconscious by then.

Surprisingly, the sound came to an abrupt stop and a second set of footsteps entered the vicinity. Atem quickly slid off the bed and slinked towards the window, his lithe frame stealthy and his feet noiseless. Pressing his back against the wall, he turned his face slightly towards the open gap and waited. He could hear low voices a few strides from him belonging to Bakura's and Rishid. The youth strained his ears to hear the conversation discussed.

"This had better be important, Rishid," Bakura growled, the tall man was hindering him from meeting with the princess and the delay made him irritable. "I take it the discussion has something to do with the two charges I assigned you, so who is it? The princess or the rodent?"

Rishid cleared his throat; he was clearly uncomfortable with the way his lesser charge was abused with offensive names. "It's about Mahado, my lord."

Atem pricked his ears when he heard the name "Mahado" being mentioned. His body froze with trepidation and he tensed involuntarily. He was fearful for his loved one.

"What about him?" Bakura snapped; the mere mention of the pest was enough to sour his mood. Keeping him alive went against everything he wanted, he desired nothing more than to blast the pest to extinction, but he couldn't. He was the one who held Atem bound and compliant to him because he held Atem's heart. The knowledge dented his ego and blighted his pride. It nettled him.

The tall man silently observed his revered leader with attentive eyes, scrutinising the traces of emotions, which flittered across his face as the Thief King struggled to remain calm. Never failing to get the same reaction from his master where Mahado was concerned, the poor youth incurred Bakura's wrath with his obscurity alone. This made Rishid's task very troublesome, he knew he wasn't going to get a favourable response to the present problem.

Inwardly sighing, Rishid balled his fists and went straight to the point; it was futile to mask the issue with unnecessary words and actions. He needed the answer to his dilemma before it is too late. Opening his mouth, he let the morbid words spill out in the open, "I think Mahado is dying."

The news prompted the predicted response from Bakura, one that made Rishid cringe from its hushed tone. "_What_!" The malice underlining the one word was unmistakeable, the anger causing the shadows to shimmer in the background, cooling the air around them in spite of the sweltering heat.

Rishid took a step away from his leader. His long years of service with the King of Thieves made him aware of how messengers of bad news are treated. He didn't want to be a casualty too. Remaining silent, he watched Bakura battle with his rage, his beast materialising to a translucent form with the growing fury.

Atem stood there adhered to the wall, a hand covering his mouth to prevent the sobs from escaping. He was fortunate Bakura's rage drowned out his initial cry to the news; the consequences of being found out eavesdropping would be disastrous for him, especially with Bakura's present mood.

"I am afraid, Mahado is unable maintain the high dosages of the potion," Rishid divulged. "The continuous administration of the concoction is making him more unresponsive by the day. Before there was some awareness, he did as he was told; he drank and ate what was fed to him. But now, we cannot coax anything pass his lips. It seems his body is beginning to shut down. His spirit is slowly being consumed. I fear if this continues, he will simply stop living."

Silence followed the Rishid's tidings. Pale brows furrowed as Bakura deliberated on possible solutions, his spirit guardian fading away as he regained control.

Atem held his breath, his heart, much to his dismay, hammered loudly in his chest. He feared the others could hear it.

Bakura offered his answer with a loud snort that broke the silence, "The purpose of the potion is to prevent the pest from summoning his spirit guardian, isn't that right, Rishid?" He watched the said man nod his head warily before continuing. "And the only way he could summon it is to call it out, right?"

Again, another cautious and reluctant nod, unlike the eavesdropper, Rishid knew where this was going.

"Then cut off his tongue so he may never utter a command again thus solving the problem," Bakura replied, a corner of his mouth lifting into a sneer.

Atem froze, his eyes wide as Bakura's suggestion sunk in. Appalled, he stood rooted to the spot with a hand still clapped redundantly over his mouth, he was too stunned to make a sound. Tears began to fill his eyes as despair took over him. Lost in a mind-numbing terror, he almost missed Rishid's next words.

"Let me see if there is another way," he offered feebly, the kind-hearted man did not like the Thief King's extreme and brutal proposal. Reluctant to inflict more harm onto Mahado, he strove to defer the deed as long as possible. A grunt from Bakura was the acknowledgement he got and with that he was contented. He scurried away before the former could change his mind.

The sound of resuming footsteps alerted Atem to move. Realising the discussion was over and the thief was making his way to him, Atem scrubbed away his tears with the heel of his hand and hurriedly flung himself back on the bed again.

Spread-eagled across the bed was how Bakura found the boy when he entered the room, the sight erasing the scowl on his face and replacing it with a grin as his eyes roamed appreciatively over the figure in the inviting pose. Bleary crimson met his pale ones and his smirk widened.

"Well, aren't you a welcoming sight, my princess," he drawled as he neared the bed. Bakura could detect the shadows in the stormy eyes. The turbulence, the intensity and the emotions reflected in those crimson depths made him forget his agitation. Leaning over the reclined figure, he placed a finger under the boy's chin and tilted the face up; slowly he brought his lips down and connected to the other.

The kiss shared sucked the breath out of the unwilling boy.

O-o-O-o-O

The smell of sweat and food mingled with the voices of men as they feasted in the large dining room. A few low tables were available for those deemed worthy of its use, otherwise men sat casually on the floor with their food and drink placed in front of them. Laughter, fuelled by the liberal flow of beer, resonated loudly around them. The group became rowdier and lewd as the evening wore on.

Bakura looked at the sea of bodies before him. His hands idly toying with his food, his mind distracted due to the absence of his favoured one. It was most unfortunate Atem was in no condition to join them for the evening meal, their coupling had proved too taxing for him and he was forced to remain bedridden for the duration of the day. It was such a pity.

Bakura sighed ruefully. The boy was still unable to cope with his libido; the small fragile body was not able to withstand the demands he imposed on it nor was it able to recover quick enough to completely satisfy him. Bakura suspected a lot of the boy's exhaustion was self-imposed. He could _feel_ Atem's struggle as he strove to suppress his desire from surfacing; the effort put in to deny himself the enjoyment was tremendous, but he could never completely succeeded. Bakura grinned recalling his lover's climax, the glistening body arching and responding so beautifully to his without inhibition, it was so honest. All that remain was to teach the boy to pleasure him. His skills at the moment lacked miserably and his indifference contributed to his poor performance.

Bakura threw his head back and drained the remaining wine from his vessel. He wiped away the access from his skin with the pad of his thumb and turned his thoughts to other matters. Glancing to figure sitting beside him, he sombrely asked, "Is everything ready for the raid tomorrow?"

Malik paused in his intake of food and glowered at the enquirer. He was not impressed with the doubt discerned in the question. "Need you ask, my lord?" he replied darkly, his appetite fleeing him. "I, for one, am focused for the task ahead. I can't say that of you though."

"Malik!" The tone was stern, the warning effective. Malik stiffened immediately as he felt the pointed glare of his master bore into him. "I expect you to carry out my orders efficiently and unquestioningly. You of all people should know I do not suffer incompetence _or_ impertinence gladly. Repeat such insolence again and you'll find yourself replaced in command as well as in my bed."

Malik bit back the bitter retort that rose readily to his lips, he didn't want to antagonise Bakura completely, not with the possibility of sharing his bed since the brat was incapacitated. A subject change was needed to restore the Thief King's good humour and, much to his disgust, he forced himself to bring it up.

"So, did you inform the princess of our move the day after tomorrow?" Malik inwardly hoped Bakura would abandon the bastard along with the soon-to-be deserted camp, but he knew that was wishful thinking. The fact that they were withdrawing to Kul Elna was partially the latter's fault. The attack on his home drew much unwanted attention and they needed to lie low for a while. Tomorrow's raid was the last before they moved on.

"Yes, the boy is aware of the upcoming move," Bakura replied flatly, filling his drinking vessel once more and knocking back the drink with a grimace. "Though he is ignorant of our destination. It doesn't matter where we are going or what we do, it is clear he cares very little for us."

_And I for him_, thought Malik dispassionately. Bakura's answer pleased the smaller male; the peeved words spoke volumes of the other's displeasure and it made Malik's heart sing. The brat was obviously unappreciative of the attention bestowed on him and it nettled Bakura. As much as he wanted to openly gloat about the boy's unworthiness, he didn't. He knew he would be treading on dangerous grounds if he were to press the issue. Bakura was always defensive of the whore!

"I heard the Pharaoh's Hunters are sniffing a little too close for comfort," he offered instead. "It appears it will not long before their search will lead them here."

Bakura lips curled with disdain, the look he threw was filled with contempt. "That may be," he retorted, "but I have secured some witnesses who, for a small price, will throw them off our scent for a while longer. By then we will have a two days start ahead them."

Malik grunted a response. He was foolish to believe Bakura was careless and negligent in his handling of the matter; after all, he was the sole reason they were still free to continue with their reign of terror. The cunningness and his ability to evade capture was a major concern for the pharaoh, the birth of a group called 'The Hunters' was a direct response to eliminating the threat he posed, their purpose was to capture him..._dead or alive_.

Bakura taunted them whenever possible, falsifying sightings and information to remind them just _who_ they were dealing with. He wasn't some low-life criminal that could be easily caught. This 'love affair', as he so calls it with the Hunters, provided him with ample entertainment at the expense of the furious pharaoh. The latter retaliated by putting a huge reward of the Thief King's head—only to be met with little result. Malik often wondered which deity protected this man who dared court danger for his amusement. To deliberated harass the most powerful man in the kingdom _and get away with it_; Bakura was, without a doubt, blessed with good fortune.

It was this unadulterated fearlessness that captivated Malik, he loved this bold and cruel man unconditionally, doing anything and everything he was asked of him as long as he held the highest place in the man's affection. He didn't ask his lord to love him back, he never expect reciprocation of the feelings he so freely gave, but he would never guess the position he so painstaking obtained would be jeopardised by a mere child—one who had no useful qualities other than him being fuckable. It was laughable that he would be in a position where he would feel threatened; Bakura's perpetual interest in the brat had made him see red. He needed to get rid of him, but he had to do it discreetly.

A slow smile slid across his face as he eyed Bakura, his fingers reaching out and lightly ghosted over a tanned arm resting on top of a bent knee.

Bakura watched Malik as he sipped his wine, heat filling his gaze and pooling in his groin. The suggestive smirk the other wore was inviting as was the feathery touch, but he hesitated to react to it. He returned a lazy smile and continued to watch; not conceding to the other's request despite it was heavily hinted, his raging need protesting in its linen confinement.

Not put out by the other's lack of response, Malik ran his fingers over Bakura's crotch and cupped the bulge it encountered. He leaned close to Bakura's ears and murmured, "Want me to take care of this for you? I can provide a better service than _him_…and I am willing." He gave the bulge a firm squeeze to confirm his intentions.

Bakura grabbed the hand and pushed it back until it was bent at an acute angle causing its owner to growl at the pain. Malik levelled a watery glare at the offender.

"It's his unwillingness that enthrals me, Malik," Bakura corrected, chastening the said man. "By not opening his legs so readily, he doesn't cheapen himself."

The slight widening of Malik's eyes revealed the hurt from Bakura's words, but he swiftly recovered. "It sounds more like an excuse because you haven't tamed the boy," he snickered boldly, suppressing the urge to pull his hand away. "Are you are losing your touch, my lord...or is he proving too difficult for you?"

"Do not measure everyone by the depraved standards you live by, Malik,' Bakura hissed. "He is able to challenge me is because I allow it so. His resistance fascinates me. His stubborn, yet, futile struggles to repel my advances are a virtue I find appealing. The thrill of breaking his spirit and dominating him each time is indescribable. He doesn't make it easy for me, but I wish it no other way."

Malik pouted and looked away. "Then you have no use for me since I am debased and obviously inferior to _him_," he declared sulkily.

Relenting, Bakura chuckled. "You and I have a mutual understanding," he said getting up, hauling Malik to his feet, "one that benefits the both of us, don't you think? Now come, let's not waste time arguing when we could be doing something productive."

Malik responded with an all-knowing smile and allowed himself to be led from the room, his last thoughts were of the imprisoned rival. He knew eventually he would be rid of him for good. He just needed to abide him time.

O-o-O-o-O

Bakura emerged from his chambers the next day beaming widely. His relaxed state indicated he was sated and eagerly looking forward to a promising raid.

_Treasures for my treasure_, he thought with idle amusement, his grin lengthening with unsuppressed mirth. He couldn't wait to adorn his lover with his pilfered gains; it was ironic to be offering his ill-begotten goods to one who was also stolen. Admittedly, he had taken so much from the boy: his virginity, his loved ones, and his identity. The life he once knew was no more; it was destroyed so he could not return to it. The act was brutal, but necessary, Bakura could not risk giving the boy hope, he could not afford to have his lover _think_, for an instant, he could survive outside of the life he had abruptly imposed on him...

_No_, he could not have the boy yearning for his freedom; it was crucial to take everything from him. If he was hated, so be it, as long as he was capable of evoking an extreme response out of him, it mattered not if it was a negative emotion. Love and hate was all the same for him. Malik's love for him bordered on infatuation, he was glad the boy did not have that fixation on him, not for the time being, at least. He didn't want an easy conquest; the boy's animosity was enough to keep him piqued. Should he no longer hold his interest; he will rob the boy of his existence too.

_It was to ensure Atem would not belong to another_.

Oddly enough, the longer he ruminated on the subject, the more tangled he became in his web of thoughts. The night he spent with Malik had been fulfilling and his primal needs had been satiated. However, his musing of the boy tantalised him—urging him to seek him out—it was strange that one individual could invade his thoughts with so little effort. Thus he stood, on the threshold of his room, debating on whether to pay _him_ a visit or not when hands gripped his shoulders and spun him around.

Hungry lips met his as slender arms curled around his neck to pull his head closer. Bakura expertly slid his tongue into Malik's mouth, eliciting a muffled groan from the latter. Instinctively, the Thief King grasped Malik's bare buttocks in his hands and ground his wakening arousal into his body. Malik pulled his lips away and moaned.

"You won't be able to sit on a horse if we continue with this," Bakura cautioned playfully, his hands kneading the firm fleshy mounds.

"Like it's ever stopped me before," growled Malik heatedly, retreating to the bed with his master in tow.

Bakura's laugh was cut off when eager lips were pressed on his again.

_Treasures for my treasure_, was his last thought before he surrendered himself to the thrill of carnal desire.

His treasure will have to wait until he returned...

~TBC~

O-o-O-o-O

_**A/N:**__ Wow, did Kura feel creepy or what? *Shudders*_

_Sorry if you feel this chapter is lacking—I don't mean to short change anyone, especially after a long absence. Originally, this chapter was much, much longer, in fact it was twice as long, but due to my proofing inadequacy and my desire to update, I decided to cut it in half. If I was to post the whole chapter, it will take me another month to get around the editing, procrastinating and stuff, so I decided to go with results and length be damned~! _

_On the bright side, it shouldn't take too long before I get the next chapter out since it is technically almost done. *Shifty eyes*_

_As always, your thoughts are most welcomed, its what keeps this fic alive so keep 'em coming. I love and cherish each and every comment given. Thank you so much for your patience, I do appreciate it~._

_Here's the preview to what's to come in the next chapter (and J Bubbles, you know you wanna look. *Points downwards*)__: _

_Rishid looked deep into the pools of sadness and gently shook his head. There was nothing he could do for Mahado; he had not found a solution to the dilemma brought about by the potency of the concoction and he loathed repeating Bakura's words to the distraught boy. If Atem had been listening to the conversation, he should already know the alternative without it being spoken. __He found the task of permanently muting Mahado extremely distasteful._

"_Is there no other way?" The words were uttered in a mere whisper, the despondent tone hinted at Atem's reluctant acceptance. _

"_I am sorry," Rishid murmured, the apology shattering Atem's heart and crushing the courage he had left. Horrified, he could only watch on as large tears rolled down the youth's face—they were all helplessly at the mercy of one man—one who controlled their lives with an ardent selfish zeal. To be loved and hated with the passion Bakura possess meant escape from his clutches was near impossible; Bakura would never willingly give something unless it was advantageous for him to do so. If Mahado were to have a chance to recover, he would first have to be free of the thief_...

_*Hugs all*_


	7. Chapter 7

Yay~ I am back and a little sooner too—only one and half month absence as opposed to the two months with the previous update. *Epic failure*

Please enjoy~!

_**Warnings**__: LEMON ALERT! SMUT AHEAD so proceed with caution. The usual 'blah' applies..._

_**Disclaimer**__**: **__I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh!_

O-o-O-o-O

Large crimson eyes stared that the tall man beseechingly; the young face conveying desperation as he pleaded with his guard for a visit to his retainer.

"Please Rishid, I beg you, _please_ let me see Mahado."

The pleading note in the boy's voice was hard to ignore and it tugged on Rishid's conscience, but orders were orders and he could not disobey them. All he could do was to dissuade Atem from asking and _that_ was not an easy task.

"I cannot go against my master's orders," Rishid replied firmly. "If he found out I let you see Mahado, you and I will be severely punished." Bakura's orders involving Atem were absolute; it would be suicide to flout them. Rishid valued his life even if the youth didn't.

"But he doesn't have to know," Atem countered. "If we were to keep the visit quiet, he'd be none the wiser. Please, Rishid, I need to see Mahado, I need to know how he is faring." He tried to reason with Rishid in a calm manner, but failed to prevent the note of desperation from creeping into his voice.

"Do you not trust my word when I say he is well as can be given his circumstances?" Rishid sounded offended.

Atem stiffened to the rebuke. "How can dying be considered as being 'well', Rishid?" he asked, fixing the other with a searing glare.

Rishid's brows shot up, manifesting his surprise, "How did you...?"

"I heard you informing Bakura yesterday," Atem interjected. "Neither of you were discreet enough about it."

Rishid slumped his shoulders and sighed. "Then you should also be aware that there is no point in your visit. It will bring nothing but grief, which in turn, will arouse Bakura's suspicion. I am sorry, but I cannot allow it."

Atem refused to be dismissed so easily. "Is it too much to ask to see a friend one last time?" he insisted, taking a few steps towards Rishid and placing a hand on his arm when he reached him, his eyes pleading earnestly. "If he is dying, is it not cruel of you to deny me the visit?"

Rishid flinched; the boy certainly knew how to appeal to him, the entreaty had found it's way through his resistance and embedded deep into his conscience. Guilt-ridden for one crime, he wondered if he could readily commit another—if he could cause more sorrow to the boy who was already suffering immensely.

Closing his eyes briefly, Rishid sighed again. "I will take you to see him but, in return, I expect your silence. Do not speak to _anyone_ about this and trust no one, do you understand?"

Atem nodded solemnly. "You have my word," he promised.

Giving his charge one final look, he turned to the door. Slowly opening it and disappearing over the threshold, he gave the surrounding area a quick scan and returned to Atem's side. "Follow me closely and do not make a sound," he ordered, gesturing to the boy to follow him outside. Once he secured the door, he marched off with his captive trailing close.

Atem obeyed and padded silently behind him, his smaller frame was well hidden behind Rishid's larger one. Fortunately, they did not have to go far. At the end of the hallway, Rishid pulled Atem to a stop and began to make quick work on the secured door. Inserting a small wooden key, Rishid disabled the lock and pushed open the door. Dragging Atem with him, he slid inside and shut the door.

Eager crimson scanned the room curiously and noted it was much smaller than his. It was scantily furnished too. His eyes shifted to the bed and rested on the lonely figure tethered on it.

"Mahado!" the name was uttered with a rising sob, causing Rishid to mentally recoil from the pain it conveyed. Atem hurtled towards the bed and threw himself onto the still figure. His body angled awkwardly as he hugged his friend, burying his face in the thin chest that barely moved due its weakened state. It did not go unnoticed by the attentive boy. "Mahado?" he repeated, the pain increased as it bled into the name. The lack of response tore the concerned eyes away from Mahado to Rishid—it was beset with denial.

The pleading look returned.

Rishid looked deep into the pools of sadness and gently shook his head. There was nothing he could do for Mahado; he had not found a solution to the dilemma brought about by the potency of the concoction and he loathed repeating Bakura's words to the distraught boy. If Atem had been listening to the conversation, he should know the alternative without it being spoken. He found the task of permanently muting Mahado extremely distasteful.

"Is there no other way?" The words were uttered in a mere whisper, the despondent tone hinted at Atem's reluctant acceptance.

"I am sorry," Rishid murmured, the apology shattering Atem's heart and crushing the courage he had left. Horrified, he could only watch on as large tears rolled down the youth's face—they were all helplessly at the mercy of one man—one who controlled their lives with an ardent selfish zeal. To be loved and hated with the passion Bakura possess meant escape from his clutches was near impossible; Bakura would never willingly give something unless it was advantageous for him to do so. If Mahado were to have a chance to recover, he would first have to be free of the thief...

"If we could wean Mahado off the concoction, he may stand a chance of recovery," Rishid offered half-heartedly. "However, getting Bakura to agree to it would be an impossible feat."

Atem shot him a look of hope. It was teary and bright. "If it is his only chance, then it is worth a try," he replied. "My loss would be far greater if I sit and do nothing, for either way I will lose Mahado. He will pine if he remains here, the lost of his voice will be a constant reminder to him of his failure towards me. Death would be kinder to him if I were not too selfish to allow it. I have lost my father, I refuse to lose Mahado as well."

"It will be difficult to persuade Bakura to relinquish him," Rishid stated.

With a contemptuous snort, Atem returned his gaze to the unconscious form—his teeth worrying his lower lip—his mind lost in thought. A deathly hush descended around the three unmoving male with Rishid observing Atem, who in turn, was staring at Mahado.

"I will do whatever's necessary to protect Mahado," Atem said softly, a small sad smile gracing his face as he ran the crook of his finger along Mahado's pale cheek. Then he reluctantly tore his eyes away and settled them on Rishid. "Would it be possible to have a moment alone with Mahado?" he asked timidly.

Green eyes stared at his prisoners then blinked in resignation. "I will allow you a brief moment alone, after that you will return to your room without fuss, do you agree?"

Atem's lips pulled into a grimace at the mention of returning, but dipped his head in agreement.

Satisfied with the reply, Rishid left the room. The last thing he heard as he closed the door was a choked cry and frantic words of endearments.

O-o-O-o-O

The sound of the lock sliding back compelled Atem to lift his head from Mahado's chest. Shifting slightly, he settled neatly beside the taller form, pressing a cheek on a thin shoulder whilst draping an arm over the chest. He stilled his breathing to feel Mahado's, not appeased until he felt the faint rise and fall of the other's breathing. Closing his eyes, he burrowed his body closer and heaved a weary sigh.

"I am not sure if you can hear me, Mahado," he said hesitantly, "but I want you to know that I love you..." He paused and forced out a dry chuckle, "I know this is not the ideal time to make a confession, but I do not want to regret not telling you because of our circumstances. For me, it is now or never."

Getting up, Atem took off the ring around his neck and broke the linen cord; he began to thread the cord through the ring so the cloth was wound tightly around it. Satisfied there was no glimpse of gold peeking from beneath the fabric, he pulled down Mahado's shenti* slightly to reveal the loincloth* beneath. Undoing the strings that held one side tied, he threaded the ring through it and retied the undergarment, replacing the top of the shenti over it. Patting it down, he had made it as inconspicuous as possible and prayed no one, except Mahado, will find it. If all goes to plan, the ring will have a new owner—one, his father would not begrudge.

"The ring is now yours, my love. Wear it with pride and make father proud." The words were spoken softly and laced with affection. Leaning over, Atem cupped a hand over Mahado's cheek and kissed the parched lips. The lack of response was to be expected, but he still felt the disappointment nonetheless. As tears filled his eyes and trickled down his cheeks, Atem pressed his lips fervently onto Mahado's face. The desire to capture the latter's features left no part of the skin untouched. Heated kisses were punctuated with words that were thick with wretchedness.

"If you value the freedom gained, do not look for me," the sorrow-filled voice warned. "Such encounter will bring nothing but humiliation and grief, for I will no longer be the person you once knew. Let me go and forget about me—that way I will feel I have accomplished something worthy. Your bartered freedom, at least, will not be for nothing."

Laying his sprawled form across Mahado's again; he closed his eyes. "One day, I hope you will find it in your heart to forgive me for abandoning you, but know that letting you go was the hardest decision of my life. Y-you..." he stopped for a moment to compose himself and rein in the violent and tempestuous emotions that were threatening to overwhelm him. "You might hate me for this, but it was done out of my love for you. Even if we cannot be together in this lifetime, I will wait for you in the next. Be sure to find me and make me yours. Meanwhile, recover from this ordeal, stay safe and live this life for yourself. That is all I ask, my love."

With those words, Atem thought he felt a slight spike in the heartbeat of his unconscious love, but quickly dismissed it as his highly-strung state feeding his imagination. Willing his body to relax, he rested with Mahado, not moving when he heard the lock of the door being removed...even when the door opened to reveal a stern-looking Rishid. His only movement was his eyes reluctantly opening.

"It is time to go." Rishid's command was brusque and forceful; it was to remind Atem of his promise to leave without fuss.

With a barest nod of his head, Atem sat up and gently leaned over Mahado's face where he kissed the still lips again. Rosy lips parted and mouthed something at the oblivious figure—the words were too quiet for Rishid to distinguish. Slowly, Atem slid off the bed and begun straightening his tunic, his glistening eyes lingering longingly on his love as he stalled for time. Finally, emitting a sigh of resignation thus marking the inevitable parting, he turned and made his way out; ignoring the stare the tall man was giving as he passed.

_I must not cry_, he kept telling himself. _I must be strong_.

Each step he took away from Mahado chipped at a piece of his heart. By the time he reached the door, it was in several fragments and beyond repair. Contrary to what his mind told him, his body would not obey. Those vibrant watery eyes finally yielded and the tears spilled down his face. Atem stifled the sob that rose in his throat, he refuse reveal how much his decision hurt him. He will not show how wretched he felt, how his soul was violently ripped from his body as he walked away from Mahado. He knew he would never see him again, but he resisted the urge to glance backward for one final look. It would only make leaving him behind that much harder. He could not bear it.

Stunned, Rishid stared at the retreating figure; he could not help, but poignantly feel the disparity between Atem's treatment towards Bakura and his treatment towards Mahado. In conclusion, it was no wonder his master hated the latter so much.

O-o-O-o-O

Shadows loomed in the dimly lit room, the lit scented oils providing illumination as well as a hint of fragrance was lost on the two occupants who stared at each other. One had an amused look on his face, whilst the other scowled angrily.

"So, Princess, this is so unlike you," Bakura chuckled, advancing towards the boy. "Care to tell me why you are being so obliging tonight?"

Anger thrummed through Atem's body as he unconsciously retreated to Bakura's encroachment. His attempt to set the mood for the talk on Mahado's freedom had failed miserably. The thief's suspicion was aroused as soon as he submitted to those wandering hands without a fight. Bakura was aware that something was amiss, yet he did not try to make Atem's task any easier.

_Did the cursed man want him to beg_? The youth thought angrily.

Atem glared at Bakura; if the man was not appreciative of his efforts then he'll have to put up with his demands instead.

"I want you to free Mahado," he declared without preamble.

Bakura stopped and laughed, indulgence accentuating the mirth and his expression. "I hardly think you are in any position to make that demand, Princess, but I'll humour you by listening to what you have to say. However, bear in mind, he is an important asset to me regardless of my feelings towards him."

He continued his advance.

"Why not be rid of him if you cannot tolerate the sight of him?" Atem reasoned, his body immediately tensing as his back hit the wall. He was trapped between that and Bakura.

"I think you know the significance of having him at my disposal," Bakura purred, leaning forward to nuzzle his captive's slender neck, his hands fondly stroking Atem's arms.

"But he is dying. What use is a dead man to you?"

Bakura jerked his head back with a scowl, his hands gripping Atem's upper arms in a painful grip. "Who told you that?" he growled.

Atem gulped and flattened himself against the wall, his face masked with a mixture of fear and defiance, "I-I…overheard Rishid telling you yesterday."

Bakura felt his hackles rising as pale slits stared at the boy. "Then you should know how I propose to remedy the problem," he replied frostily. "His value outweighs my aversion to him—it is _your_ fault that it has to be this way."

Atem flinched. "If that is the case, on what condition will you willing let him go? What is the price for Mahado's freedom?" Exasperation flowed from his voice and spilled into the words.

Strong hands released Atem's arms and slapped the wall on either side of the unruly head. The stance trapped the captive further, but it was Bakura's eyes that held Atem fearful and immovable.

He was pinned by the steely, pastel glare.

"The price will be your subservience and your servitude to me. It will require you to freely give me your body and willingly pledge your life to me—to be mine and mine only. Are you are willing to pay for it, _Atem_?" The demand was cold and hard, gone was the mocking tone and in its place was the master of the fearsome thieves.

"Are you willing to let him go?" the icy voice continued. "And _why_?"

Sorrow-filled crimson gazed up at the impassive face. It was mingled with remorse. "Because I wish not for him to suffer for me," the reply was barely above a whisper.

"Yet you suffer for him?" Bakura raised a curious brow, his lips curved into a sneer.

Atem looked away, his eyes focusing on the ground. "We will never be together—it is a fruitless to wish otherwise. For me, his presence will be a bitter reminder of desires that could never be fulfilled and for you; he will be a constant blight. If that is the case, why keep him if I can offer everything _and more_ without him being around?"

Bakura's interest was piqued. "So what are you offering, Princess?"

Atem's eyes met with Bakura's, his voice was level as he presented his proposition. "For Mahado's release and subsequent freedom, I pledge to remain by your side for the rest of your life."

For Bakura, to say the offer wasn't tempting would be a lie. The terms were favourable to him and being rid of the eyesore was persuasive enough. However, he wasn't about to give in so easily, he wanted the boy to understand the consequences of his words and what it entailed. He needed to make him understand that he should not take the pledge lightly.

The thief broke into a leer. "Then I wish for longevity so I can make the most of your offer," he chortled. "Now, Princess, show me your sincerity and I will think about it."

There was a flash of annoyance from those crimson eyes before Atem crushed his lips onto Bakura's in a passionate kiss, his mouth opening to allow the other access with his tongue. The kiss deepened eliciting a moan from the dominant male. Atem rolled his hips against the other's growing erection, causing the thief to break off the kiss and lavish attention on his exposed neck and shoulders with nips and grazes. Closing his eyes, Atem tilted his head to one side to allow Bakura's lips further access, his arms winding around the latter's tanned neck as fingers gripped the white hair, tugging it gently.

Bakura pushed his body against the boy's, pressing the smaller frame into the wall. Large hands travelled over the shoulders, down the upper torso to Atem's lower body, sliding under the tunic and undergarment to caress the firm mounds of flesh beneath. The tightening of the boy's grip on his hair informed Bakura of the effects his fondling had; so he drew the body closer, grinding his arousal into it.

Atem gasped.

"Show me," Bakura murmured huskily, his cryptic words causing Atem to wrench open his eyes. "Show me how far you are willing to go for that accursed man."

Vivid eyes, accompanied with a shuddering breath, closed once more. With hands still resting on the white head, Atem lifted a leg up and curled it around the thief's hip, nudging it closer with the back of his foot. He heard Bakura hum with approval. It was encouraging.

_I must do this for Mahado_. The single thought ran continuously through his mind, telling him to overcome his inhibitions and dislike, and apply everything he's learnt and experienced to pleasure his enemy.

_Let yourself go_, the inner voice whispered. _Imagine_ him _as your lover...the man you want to share this intimacy with. Imagine him as Mahado_.

Fingers released the soft strands of hair as slim arms sought purchase around his lover's neck; next he hoisted his other leg up to join its counterpart. His endeavour was met with a low chuckle followed by teeth sinking into his shoulder. The whimper of pain was cut off when the hands kneading his rear pulled the cheeks apart and a finger circled his entrance playfully. Atem growled in response to the teasing and sought out his lover's lips once more. Lost in the heated moment of passion, he was dimly aware of being carried to the bed and placed in the centre of it; all the while their lips were fiercely locked together.

Greedy hands began tearing off clothing, both participants desperate to divest the garments that hindered the feel of skin upon skin. Once all was removed and flung carelessly around them, there was nothing to deter the hands from exploring the smooth contours of the flesh beneath it. Small hesitant hands become bolder as it swept over the curves of a toned back, fingers running along the spine, tracing the ridges that peeked beneath skin. A groan was pulled from his lover, encouraging him to detach his legs from the other's waist and spread them wide on either side. After planting his feet firmly on the bed, Atem pushed his lower body up.

With a strained pleasure-filled grunt, his lover flipped him around so he was lying on top, giving him the control over their movements.

_Mahado_...

Atem grounded into body beneath him, milling their erections in a circular motion, hardening their lengths and igniting a fire in their groins with the friction. Wrought with desire and the need to be filled, Atem crawled to the edge of the bed and leant over it, retrieving a small jar covered with a thick layer of animal skin. Since the episode with the clay jar, anything that could be broken and used as a potential weapon was removed and replaced with hide-coated vessels. Although Atem had no intention to re-enact the incident again, his captors did not want to risk it. Precaution cost them little; compared to the benefit it reaped.

Suppressing the snort of disdain, Atem opened the jar and dipped his fingers into it, liberally coating them with the slick substance before replacing the jar. Much to his lover's delight, he leaned forward for another kiss and impatiently pressed two fingers into his rear's opening.

Warm folds of flesh surrounded his fingers as he burrowed deep into the passage, twisting and stretching to loosen its narrow walls. Instinctively, he began rubbing their bodies together, heightening the sensation of one action by complementing it with another. His lover moaned into the kiss and bucked his hips upwards to maximise their pleasure.

The fire in Atem's groin increased. He added another finger into his rear and continued to thrust it in and out; the oil and fingers provided a perverse sound as it plundered on, filling his insides and the room with a heady scent of peppermint. Deeming himself ready, he pulled away from the kiss and licked his way down to his lover's cock. There, he wrapped his free hand around the length and started to stroke it, his teeth grazing over the soft tip of the head, his tongue lapping the small beads of liquid arousal as it surfaced. His lover hissed at the dual sensation. Teeth and tongue, sharp and soft, pain and pleasure. Atem savoured the control he had over his lover. He basked in its power and knew he could gain more.

Removing his fingers and straightening up, he shifted his body until he was straddled over his lover's crotch. Then, lifting up his body, he grabbed his lover's cock with his slick hands, massaged the oil on the hard length with a few strokes and positioned the tip over his stretched entrance. Slowly, he pushed down, the thick shaft disappearing into him with the painful descent until he was seated on muscled thighs. He allowed his body a brief respite to adjust to the thick appendage and to calm the frantic beating of his heart.

Once the pain had receded, Atem placed both his hands on his lover's chest for support and began to move. Slowly, he lifted himself off the his lover's cock until only the tip was embedded inside of him and then gently pushed himself back on it again.

His lover growled his pleasure, his large hands seeking purchase on his hips and caressing it absently, silently encouraging to him continue. Atem rode the rigid length, speeding up as he became accustom to the intrusion—even going as far as to relax enough to _enjoy_ it.

_Mahado_, his mind purred through the haze of lust, gasping aloud as the hips beneath slammed upwards, plunging deeper and harder into him until he could only vocally respond with grunts and moans.

Each downward thrust was now harmonised with the other's motion. The ability to calmly coordinate his actions was beginning to impair as they sped up. Gentle hands on his hips were no more; instead it was replaced with a greedy grasp that dug severely into his flesh. He had long conceded control to his lover; his body willingly accepting the fast and furious thrusts the other provided, his boneless body bounced to the rhythm set. The sound of flesh upon flesh as it slid in and out of him was loud to his ears. The movements inside him stoked the growing inner flame, fanning it until it became a raging inferno waiting to be release so it could wholly consume him. He wrapped a hand around his own weeping arousal and began pumping it in long, tight strokes.

His ragged breath revealed he was close to his climax; his lover sensed it and doubled his efforts to draw it out.

_Mahado_.

The image of his lover, lying beneath him with his long, brown tresses spread out was undoing him. Rich, earth-hued eyes, tainted with desire, stared up beneath a slight frown. He, too, was close to his climax.

_Mahado_...

Atem was near completion. The name was ready to spill from his lips, had it not been a particularly violent thrust that momentarily distracted him. Instead, he let out a guttural cry, protesting at the sudden harsh treatment.

_So close_...

And judging from the harsh breathing beneath him, his lover was close too.

"M-Ma-" his voice and the words shook and trembled with each thrust and exertion, the hand encased around his cock moving to the same tempo.

_Mahado..._

Narrowed eyes dilated with lust stared down at the man who was pounding into him, his release finally dissipating some of his incoherency. As waves of his climax tore through him, he cried out...

"_Ma-Master_!"

Bakura's eyes rounded with surprise, the designation had pushed him over the edge and he came with a brusque grunt, his body erratically thrusting as he emptied his seed inside the boy.

_Master..._ Atem's cry reverberated loudly in Bakura's head, the satisfaction emanating through him at the thought was matched only with the gratification of the boy's performance. If Atem could perform this well every time, he was more than willing to renounce the hostage.

Bakura's lips curled into a smug grin as he came to a decision.

Atem laid panting breathlessly on top of his master; his sluggish body draped over the hard, lean frame as his equally sluggish mind began to fog over with fatigue.

"Tired out, Princess?" Bakura's amused voice cut through the veil of exhaustion.

With his eyes closed, Atem hummed a reply not caring about the ambiguity of it. It earned him a chuckle from the older man, who carefully pulled out of him and rolled him over. He was vaguely aware of Bakura leaving the bed and then returning. Next, light fingers proceeded to ghost over his arms lifting them over his head and snapping something on each wrist. His arms were released after.

Cracking open his eyes, Atem glanced at the items adorning each wrist. Bracelets, wide in design and made with fine beaten gold, shone against his honey-hued skin; it revealed Bakura's intentions.

_Beautiful manacles for the enslaved_, Atem thought bitterly before allowing his body and mind to drift off to sleep. _It was obvious he was now shackled to Bakura for life_.

O-o-O-o-O

Malik looked down at his handiwork. The image of the trussed and gagged man on the bed soothed his ire and cooled his irritation.

"If you wish to blame anyone, then blame that whore you call 'master,'" he snarled as he feverishly paced the room. "He was the one who forced my hand. If he hadn't taken what was mine, I would not have made you suffer for his insolence and grant you a quick death. It is unfortunate that you will have to pay for the slut's impertinence."

The unconscious man did not reply.

Malik continued to fume as he recalled the incident that morning. The sight of Bakura, sitting on the bed with the unconscious boy's head on his lap and a hand tenderly carding through the unruly hair, had him seething with rage.

_How dare Bakura act so callous with his whore in front of him_? _How could he sit there calmly instructing Rishid to release Mahado whilst petting the slut_?

Envy consumed him as he silently appraised the numerous bite marks and bruises littered the on the pale skin. Its existence denoted possession and its abundance signified passion. He became very conscious of his own markings from the very same man. _It paled in comparison_.

Needless to say, Rishid followed the order through and had untied the man, leaving him to regain conscious and his freedom on his own. Little did he know, Malik had sneaked in after he had gone and forced his revenge on unsuspecting man. Tied up and unable to summon his ka, the helpless man will be exposed to starvation, dehydration, infection and scavengers.

His victim will die a very slow death.

Finally, his pacing stopped. With a predatory growl and a deep scowl on his face, Malik left the room, slamming the door shut and locking it once again.

The unconscious man continued to be oblivious to the ripples his young master had caused in the thief camp.

O-o-O-o-O

Atem woke to the heat enveloping his body and a gently swaying that rocked his body from side to side. Peering out from the cloak, which was wrapped around him to shield him from the wind and sun, he realised he was in Bakura's arms. Feeling indignant from lying across the thief's lap, he struggled to sit up. In his haste and foggy state, he nearly toppled off.

Strong arms wrapped around his waist, steadying him as lips hovered tantalisingly close to his ear. He could feel heated breath caress his cheek as Bakura whispered the words he wished to hear yet dreaded.

"As promised, he has been freed. Now you solely belong to me, _Atem_…"

Atem closed his eyes and whispered a prayer in his heart for his love. He felt large hands clasp around his smaller ones and he flicked open his eyes to look at them. The gold bracelets glinted in the bright sun reminding him of the price it cost him for Mahado's freedom.

Closing his eyes, he reclined his body into Bakura's, allowing his form to mould into the other. "Yes, my lord," he affirmed in the barest of whisper, "I belong to you now."

Behind him, he felt Bakura smile...

~TBC~

O-o-O-o-O

**A/N**: Erm...not a lot to say this time around so I'll jump straight to the next chapter's preview. J Bubbles, are you going to or not…hmmm? LOL~! The rest of you, lovely peeps, enjoy the sneak-peek:

_"_What_?" Atem gasped, physically reeling from the news and stumbling a few paces back. A hand flew to his mouth, covering it. He looked utterly horrified._

"_He's dead!" Malik sneered. "I left him unconscious, tethered and gagged! How long do you think he'd survived under those circumstances with no food, no water, potion withdrawal and rats to feast on his flesh?"_

"NO_!"_ Atem shook his head in denial.__

"_Oh, yes! Your poor, precious Mahado!" spat Malik with glee. "Completely vulnerable and powerless—unable to call his guardian for help. I purposely left him to die a torturous death _and it's your entirely fault_! You are the reason he suffered!"_

_Malik circled Atem, his flinty stare never leaving the latter's face. He savoured the boy's pain, avidly lapping it up like a man gulping down water after a long spell in the desert, but he wasn't finished yet. He still had the killing blow to execute__…_

*Flees*

O-o-O-o-O

*Shenti – Skirt

*Loincloth - Underwear


	8. Chapter 8

_Yes, finally I am back! I hope you're all having a fantastic 2013 thus far. Woo-Hoo~ _

_My deepest apologies for the late update, I am really, really, REALLY sorry for the wait._

_**Warnings**__: Light lemon, gory violence, blood, death, graphic details of suicide and a fuck-fest o' angst, you have been warned. The usual 'blah' applies to grammatical errors and typos since it's now 7AM and I am knackered 'cos I haven't slept yet. I will re-read this chapter once I am feeling more awake and lucid, so forgive? Other than that, please enjoy the chapter._

_**Disclaimer**__**: **__I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh!_

* * *

><p><em>Cocooned within the walls of the master bedchamber, two males were lost amid the throes of their carnality to realise the commotion outside their heavenly refuge. A small young male straddled a heavier and stockier one, his head thrown back and lips parted in rapture as he rode the one beneath him. The heavy panting and gasping obscured all other sounds thus adding to their oblivion.<em>

"_Faster, bitch!" the larger man growled, supplementing his instructions with a hard slap on the other's rear, mimicking the actions of a rider to a beast. "Unless you want the whip to which I'd be more than happy to oblige." A sadistic sneer accompanied the threat._

_The youth paled and addressed the man with a brisk nod of his head. Fear being the main factor that compelled him to hold his tongue and do as he was told; his master did not make idle threats nor did the youth want to encourage the latter's sadistic streak if he could help it. It was one thing to be treated like a whore and fucked until he could not walk, but it was another to be treated like an animal and whipped until he was bleeding from open welts. The latter experience was, by far, most unpleasant._

_Suppressing the shudder, he clenched his teeth and sped up. _

_Stubby fingers reached up and entwined themselves in the pale hair that hung over the youth's shoulder, giving it a sharp tug and pulling the face down to meet his. A wet tongue shot out and licked the angular jaw before biting down on it. A hiss of pain and a slight faltering in the set rhythm was the only response from the recipient. _

"_Good boy," the master breathed out, releasing the captured locks and surrendering himself to the onslaught of pleasure. The feeling of bliss sweeping over him in abundance—he was close to his climax—just a few more thrusts and he would be..._

"RAIDERS_! Run away!"_

_Hurried footsteps ran passed the room, the bearer of bad news taking his own advice to heart and making a hasty escape; a distant scream prompted a reaction from the two on the bed._

"_Fuck!" cursed the youth, unsheathing himself from the softening cock beneath and nimbly leaping off the bed. Wrinkling his nose with disgust to the faint smell of burning, he went about picking up his discarded garments and throwing them on with impatient haste. So intent on leaving, he didn't notice a hand reach out and curl itself around his thin wrist._

"_Where do you think you are going, boy?" his master commanded, his grip preventing him from moving. "You are staying here to protect me!"_

_The youth spun around and glared at the man. "The fuck I will," he snapped back angrily, the instinct for survival far outweighing the sense of fear for his master, hence making him bold with his words. "You can die here if you wish, but do so on your own, bastard. You'd better let me go!" He tried to twist from the hold. _

"_And if I don't? What are you going to do about it?" the man sneered, the grip tightened tauntingly._

_Without warning, a small hand dove out and grabbed the naked man by the groin; digging nails into the fleshy skin it made contact with. A scream followed and the man let go of the youth to nurse his tender organs, his body doubled over in pain. _

"_You will pay for this insolence, you little shit," the man gritted. "I will have whipped like the—" _

_A small stool arched through the air and landed on the man's head, shattering it into fragments and splinters. The man staggered under the weight of the impact before keeling over and falling on his face. The thickset body remained motionless amongst the debris, but the boy was not done. Dissatisfied with the results, he continued to bludgeon the unconscious man with his makeshift weapon. _

"_This is for the times you've starved me, tortured me, beat me and raped me..."_

Smack_, _smack, SMACK_._

"_…For shit I've suffered in your hands—for shit I would have gladly tolerated__…_accepted_…if you acknowledged my worth, acknowledge that I was someone of value. It wouldn't hurt you to reward me for my services..."_

Smack_._

"_It wouldn't hurt you to raise me above the status of slave..."_

Smack_._

"_But you wanted to humiliate me, didn't you? You wanted that power over me. You wanted to control me because you are nothing but a bully and a coward!"_

Smack_._

_Blood and gore splattered over the youth, painting him in drops of red. Some landed his torso and some on his face; he paused to wipe it off with his forearms, smearing the substance across his flushed skin in bright red streaks. He was breathing heavily; his small chest rose and fell with the exertion. He was sure the man was dead, the realisation set in when he had calmed down enough to drop the wood and reflect on the possible course of action available to him. _

_It was painfully obvious he had no choice, but to flee._

_In a flash, he pounced on the corpse ripping off the gold jewellery it adorned. Heavy necklaces, rings and bangles were hastily removed and thrown into the elaborate tunic belonging to his former master. A swift sweep around the room ensured anything valuable was removed and placed with the other pilfered goods. _

_Unable to contain the desire to taunt the dead man one last time, he placed a foot on the groin and pressed down. The soft flesh flattened beneath the pressure, causing the boy to grin with satisfaction. "Who's the bitch now, _Master_?" he sneered and was about to pull away when the door was flung open and an unknown figure casually strode in._

_The youth whipped his head towards the intruder, his eyes blazing with hostility and his teeth, bared in a feral snarl. The hand that held his bounty tightened possessively—he wasn't about to forgo it without a fight! _

_The stench of burning, blood and hatred hung heavily in the air as pale eyes, dark with lust-filled hunger, surveyed the room before alighting on the two occupants. The sight of the dead man on the ground and the blood-stained youth evoked a smile on his scarred face. _

"_A little enthusiastic, aren't we?" he chuckled, gesturing to the body on the floor. _

_The youth's eyes slid towards at the gory mess that was formerly his master before returning to the speaker. "He deserved it," he scoffed, showing his defiance with a tilt of his chin, "and you will meet a similar fate if you stand in my way!"_

_The man barked out a laugh. It was rich and deep...and it mocked the youth for his newfound boldness. _

_As expected, the youth responded to the provocation. Riding high on adrenaline, he ran towards the man, his fist balled and ready to punch that arrogant face..._

_Only it never reached the target. _

_A pale winged beast with a serpent tail appeared. The serpent reared its head up and threatened the attacker with a loud hiss, effectively stopping him in his tracks._

_The youth fell backwards and scrambled away with fright, his eyes wide as he stared into the jaws of the beast, completely entranced by the movement of its forked tongue._

"_Reckless too, I see," the man drawled lazily. Motionless, he stood behind the beast, his arms folded across his chest and a wide smirk stretched across his face. He took in the lithe body and bronze flesh exposed under the blood-spattered garment and his smile widened. Unfolding his arms, he gave a dismissive wave of his hand and the creature disappeared, forcing the youth's attention back on him again._

"_W-who are you? And what is that thing?"_

_A light chortle escaped the man as he approached the fallen youth, his gaze hard and unyielding; bore deep as he held the latter in his thrall. "What is your name, boy?" he demanded when he stopped in front of him._

_The youth pressed his lips together in a stubborn line, his expression exhibiting sullenness. He did not answer._

_Undeterred, the man laughed. "_That thing_ is my guardian spirit, Diabound, and I could summon it again, so the two of you can get reacquainted. Maybe you'll tell him your name since you won't tell me. He's known to be rather _persuasive_."_

_The still figure paled beneath the tan and licked his lips nervously. The man towering over him watched the act with a __predatory__ gleam in his eyes, his patience ended with a slight movement of his hand. _

_The gesture startled the youth out of his obstinacy. "M-Malik..." he stammered out hurriedly. His eyes round with fear as he pushed backwards across the floor, trying to lengthen the distance himself and the predator. He felt the air distort as the man made good his threat. "My name is Malik!"_

_Pleased with the response, the man threw his head back and laughed. The laughter cut through the tension and terror, __and infused__ the room with its hearty sound. Eventually, it trickled down to a light snicker before he spoke again._

"_And my name is Bakura," said the man, his lips still twitching with mirth as he stretched out a hand and extended it to the youth. "Would you like to join me, Malik?"_

O-o-O-o-O

Atem stood in the courtyard and watched the preparation for the next raid being carried out. It was rumoured to be a big heist—one that involved attacking a convoy of important dignitaries who were travelling to the capital for the Pharaoh's upcoming wedding. Gifts were thought to be bountiful and entertainment aplenty. Each member selected for the task eagerly looked forward to it. The scouts had informed them of the route the procession was taking; all that was required was to lie in wait for them. Using the element of surprise to their advantage meant it should be met with very little resistance.

It had been ten days since their arrival in Kul Elna, a village in the middle of nowhere, and the thieves have since settled. Having made his pledge to remain beside Bakura, Atem had been given the liberty to roam as he pleased. However, even with his freedom, the youth never felt so trapped..._so helpless_. If he felt like a caged bird before, he, now, felt like a bird with its wings clipped.

Atem's gaze fell upon the commanding figure of his master. Bakura was checking the fastening on his horse's saddle, his face grave with concentration and oblivious to the attention the observer was bestowing him. It was ironic Atem was even paying heed to the thief considering he had barely managed to escape the other's greedy grasp. Bakura had been relentless with him, as if to enforce his claim over Atem, his demands had been insatiable. No longer could anyone doubt whom he belonged to; the Thief King ensured he was marked for all to see. Neither did anyone dared touch him in fear of their lord's retribution, but that didn't stop the silent leers and heated stares. Atem knew for sure that failure to satisfy Bakura and keep him interested meant a fate worse than death. It was one thing to be taken repeatedly by one man and another thing to be forced by a whole company of them.

The thought horrified him and, in spite of the heat, Atem shivered. It drew the object of his musing's attention towards him.

Bakura gave his steed an indulgent pat on the rump before making his way to his lover. The boy stiffened on seeing his master approach him, but remained where he was, silently glaring at the smirking man. Calloused hands grabbed a slender arm and roughly dragged the reluctant boy back into the room they had exited not long ago. Cradling the other hand on the back of the tricolour head, Bakura crushed their lips together, teeth and tongues clashing as he pried open the boy's mouth to deepen the kiss.

At first Atem resisted, the attempt was feeble against the stronger and more forceful man, who chuckled against his lips. Admitting, it was a useless endeavour, the boy submitted to the assault.

"Miss me already, Princess?" Bakura asked, when they finally pulled away, his thumb tracing the outline of Atem's red swollen lips. "Or do you wish me dead so you can be free of me?"

Atem scowled and snorted scornfully at him, almost wishing for the thief's demise had it not been dire for his situation. As long as he is stuck in Kul Elna, he'd be at the mercy of the thieves...and Malik. With Bakura alive he could, at least, stave off the predators. As much as he loathed admitting, a dead Bakura meant his own demise..._a very slow and painful one too_. It made Atem wince.

"Unfortunately, as long as I am stuck here, I cannot wish for your death," the boy admitted sourly. The confession was honest as was the crimson look he gave. Little did Atem know, Bakura had arranged for Rishid to flee with the boy should anything happen to him. It was the reason why the dark giant was to remain in the village.

"Then you must pray for my safety," Bakura murmured huskily, brushing his knuckles against a smooth cheek, "and provide me a warm welcome on my return to show your apreciation, but for now, let me give you a parting gift to remember me by."

Without another word, Bakura swung his lover on to the bed and began undressing him...

O-o-O-o-O

Lying on his front with his chin on his arms and spread-eagled across the bed, Atem watched Bakura dress. He watched bit by bit of the exposed flesh being covered by linen. First, the loincloth and shenti covered his lower body followed by his outer robe. The boy watched the red robe slide across the sinewy arms to cover the tanned back and shoulders; the front was left open to reveal a toned midriff.

"Get some rest and do not wander about. Whilst I am away, Rishid will take care of you."

_Protection_.

Atem nodded solemnly, acknowledging the implicit message and warning he was given. Bakura smiled fondly at the boy and, after stealing a kiss from a pair of unwilling lips, he swept out of the room.

Slowly Atem sat up, hissing when his rear pressed against the bedding. Ever so gently he eased himself off and limped over to a wooden table where a jug of water and a copper basin with a small cloth awaited him. A trail of milky fluid leaked out of him and trickled down a thigh, but he ignored it.

Tilting the jug, so he needn't lift it and aggravating the pain in his lower body, he poured a small amount of water into the basin to soak the cloth. Carefully, he wrung it out and applied it around his thighs, stomach, chest and rear, parting a taut cheek to allow the excess to seep out. So engrossed in his cleaning task, he did not realise the intruder until he spoke.

"Oh my... sore, are we?" Malik spied the cloth in the boy's hand and tutted. "And wasteful too!"

Atem glowered at Malik furiously. "What do you want?" he growled, reaching for his discarded tunic and putting it on, trying very hard to ignore the pain that lanced through his body due to his hasty movements.

"What _I_ want is for you to disappear from our lives... _That_ is what _I_ want."

Atem looked away and shrugged nonchalantly, wishing he didn't have to deal with the possessive man and waste his breath on another pointless conversation. "I am afraid I cannot grant your wish because I pledged myself to Bakura, _I am bound to him_!"

He spat out the last part as though he found the situation most distasteful.

Malik tapped his chin and feigned contemplation. "Ah yes, _bound_ to Bakura on the condition he set the rodent free," he recalled airily. "Now you are tied to his side as his plaything, _his whore_. How pitiful, young master."

The young master's head shot up and fixed a challenging glare on the hateful man. "Are you any better than me?" he sneered. "Do you not allow him to ravish you solely on a whim?"

Malik slammed a fist on the table disturbing the items. "Do not compare me with yourself, whore!' he snarled. "I, for one, gladly welcome him into my arms, my body yearns for him, my soul cries out for him. I _know_ him, I understand him whereas _you_ spurn him at every opportunity and treat him with contempt!" He glared back at Atem and dared him to deny it.

The narrowed eyes and delicate flare of the nostrils indicated Atem's anger; however, he pursed his lips and kept quiet. He could not refute the other man's claim.

Malik continued, stabbing an accusatory finger in Atem's direction. "You can offer him nothing, but a hole to fuck! I can't even say you warm his bed because you are so stony and cold! What the fuck does he see in you? You can't fight, you can't pleasure him—you can't even satisfy him!" Frustration flowed from his body and fused with the words he uttered. "Do you know why he fucks so frequently?"

The boy was silent. Unblinking large eyes stared at his rival; the full attention he gave urged the other to go on...

"He produces an enormous amount of energy called Ba or soul energy, which fuels his Guardian. It is why Diabound is so formidable. Nevertheless, it comes at a price. Having that level of energy means he needs frequent release to maintain a healthy balance between the vessel, which is his body and his Ka, which is Diabound. Accumulating too much energy in his body is disastrous for him, his Ka and, in turn, for everyone. Of course, he can use other methods to expend that energy, but mating seems to be the one he enjoys and favours most, yet, you can't even do a good job of it!"

Malik's contempt was scathing.

"Through my body he finds the relief he desires, through my body he finds the balance he needs. He can fuck me until I am raw and broken because I _want_ him! He gave me a purpose; he gave me a sense of belonging—here with these people—_with him_! For once, I was happy! But _you_... you threaten this happiness! _My happiness_! I was his the moment he held out his hand to me and I will not allow you to take him away from me!"

"I did not want this!" Atem cried out desperately, motioning hysterically around him. "I didn't choose to lead a life like this!"

"_You lie_!"

Atem shook his head feverishly. "I did it for Mahado! I had to! He would die if he remained here. If the concoction didn't kill him, his guilt would. I couldn't bear it, I couldn't watch him suffer for my sake," Atem clawed at pain in his chest, his fingers tightly clutching at the fabric of his tunic, the knuckles bared white through the taut skin. Large crimson pools stared at the accuser, silently begging him to stop his torment.

"You killed him anyway."

The words, though spoken softly, had the impact of hurricane on the smaller male.

"_What_?" Atem gasped, physically reeling from the news and stumbling a few paces back. A hand flew to his mouth, covering it. He looked utterly horrified.

"He's dead!" Malik sneered. "I left him unconscious, tethered and gagged! How long do you think he'd survived under those circumstances with no food, no water, potion withdrawal and rats to feast on his flesh?"

"_NO_!" Atem shook his head in denial.

"Oh, yes! Your poor, precious Mahado!" spat Malik with glee. "Completely vulnerable and powerless—unable to call his guardian for help. I purposely left him to die a torturous death _and it's your entirely fault_! You are the reason he suffered!"

Malik circled Atem; his flinty stare never leaving the latter's face. He savoured the boy's pain, avidly lapping it up like a man gulping down water after a long spell in the desert, but he wasn't finished yet. He still had the killing blow to execute…

"So much for your sacrifice, boy! It wasn't worth it in the end, was it? After everything you've given up and endured, it was all for naught. The ones you love are all dead and now you are alone, forever the Thief King's whore until he no longer deem you worthy of his attention, then you'll be passed down the ranks, fucked until you are too worn to move." Malik laughed, the vision of the slut being ravaged by the lower ranks produced a vicious glint in his eyes. His fall from grace would have been satisfying to see, had the desire to see him dead not been greater.

The boy was paralysed to the spot and speechless, he was appalled with the news of his beloved servant.

Malik smirked and pulled out a small dagger from his belt. Unsheathing it, he waved at Atem. The glint of the metal caught the latter's attention and he stared it keenly.

Malik's grin widened.

"So tell me, whore, is this..." he waved the dagger dismissively around him, "worth losing everything for?"

Shocked, Atem could not reply, but stiffened when Malik walked over and stood behind him, leaning his head over his shoulder.

"The poor little princess," he cooed, "all alone in this world with no father and no loved one to comfort him."

Gently, he encircled his arms around the distraught boy and pressed himself against the other's body. He felt tiny tremors course through the small frame as the boy struggled to suppress his grief.

"You know, it doesn't have to be this way," he coaxed, "You can be free of this, if you wish it."

Malik _felt_ rather than hear the responding whimper.

Taking the small hand in his one, he pried open the palm and pressed the dagger in it. After wrapping his hand over the smaller hand that held the dagger, he picked up the other hand with his free one and turned it over to expose the soft underside of the wrist. A thumb traced the spidery vein that pulsed frantically beneath.

"Do you know how vulnerable this part of you is?" Malik's voice was gentle and alluring. The warm words ghosted over Atem's cheeks causing a small shiver to vibrate through his body. The hand with the dagger was steered towards the upturned wrist and the blade rested on the skin's surface.

"Make a deep cut here,' he pushes the blade lightly into the flesh to make a dent, but not cut it, "and your life's blood will spill out."

Malik turned his face so his lips hovered over Atem's ears, "You can end this miserable existence—you can end it all and join your father and your lover in the afterlife. Surely you'd want to see them, right?"

Atem stared fixedly at the blade and his wrist. It was so tempting to give in—to slide that cold metal across that warm throbbing flesh...

Suddenly, Atem felt his body pushed forward and the hand that held the dagger was pulled back high in the air and plunged downwards with sweeping arc. By the time he realised what happened, the tip of the blade was lodged in the table and Malik had released him.

Laughing victoriously, Malik saunters out of the room, pleased with the way things went. His work was done; he had persuaded the boy to desire death, he had planted the seeds of temptation in his mind and had given him the incentive and means to carry it out. He didn't doubt failure, the whore wanted it so badly—Malik could taste it.

_No, it would not fail_.

As for Bakura, Malik was willing face his displeasure and his wrath as long as the whore was out of the way for good. He was confident that with time, Bakura's infatuation would peter out and _he_ will be nothing more than a bad memory. Malik will do his best to make the Thief King forget; after all, the latter needed no one but him…

O-o-O-o-O

Atem did not hear Bakura and company leave Kul Elna, he did not hear the horses thundered out of the village and out into the golden plains that stretched far as the eye could see.

All he could do was stare at the dagger that was embedded upright on the wooden surface.

_It taunted_ _and_ _lured him_...

It would be so easy, a small voice told him, so easy to give in and end it all. No more grief, no more copulating...and no more Bakura.

_Bakura. The King of Thieves. His Master.._..

A pledge forged out of love for another... another he could not have... another he inadvertently killed...

_Mahado_.

Tears welled up and Atem wept inconsolably for his beloved. How his heart ached! How he felt as if it was was ripped out and crushed like the dried husk it became. Nothing could replace the emptiness he felt over the loss of Mahado. Nothing could ever replace _him_.

The bitter tears ran freely down his face as he silently screamed against the injustice of it all. How cruel was fate to take from him the one person he wanted to protect? How ironic was it to lose himself to save another—only to discover his sacrfice was for nothing? He couldn't save anyone.

The dagger bade words of comfort...of redemption. _His redemption _if he so desires it...

The thieves were fickle and dangerous lot. He heard tales of hostages being taken, raped and abused then left to rot and die when their captors tire of the sport or find fresh meat to replace them. Atem knew he would receive the same treatment if Bakura tired of him. Prior to Malik's revelation, he would have been willing to live and accept such fate, but now he wasn't so sure.

Would he be willing to live like this as punishment for his failure to protect the one he loved? Would he be willing to continue living—knowing what the fate awaited him?

Atem shook his head to the questions. He had nothing worth living now, the one person who kept him tethered to this nightmare had gone. He wished for death.

_Coward! _The voice in his head chided_._ _You willing break your promise_!_ How dishonourable! _

Are they not dishonourable for not fulfilling their promise? For murdering Mahado when they were supposed to free him? he countered.

_But _he_ did not break his promise_, the voice argued.

But_ he_ did not fulfil it either, came the stubborn rebuttal.

Unconsciously, Atem's fingers crept towards the dagger, whilst his conscience warred with itself. His hand itched to feel the hard pommel in his grasp again. Curling his fingers around it, he gave it a sharp tug and the dagger was freed. Atem held it up and studied at the coppery blade. He saw a thin gaunt-looking face reflected back at him. He saw eyes that were lacklustre and dead.

Curling his lips, he came to a decision. For the second time since his capture, Atem felt a surge of determination take over him. He knew what he must do. To implement it, he needed to be patient and allow the raiding party half a day's head start, knowing they were not due to return until the next day. Time he had in abundance; he need not rush it and draw suspicion especially from the ever-vigilant Rishid.

Sheathing the dagger, he walked over to a large chest on the floor. With a little difficulty, he knelt in front of it and flipped it open.

Inside were stacks of garments, all his. Tunics, loincloths, shenti and robes were neatly folded in orderly piles. Atem could not criticise the Thief King's generosity with clothes, even though he barely wore them long enough before it was removed or ripped off him—another reason for the abundance of clothes.

Carefully, he placed the dagger between the tunics, about halfway down the stack, ensuring he smoothed out the top ones so it didn't appear disturbed. Afterwards, he got up, went to the bed and slid face down onto it.

With nothing to distract him further, he allowed himself to grieve.

O-o-O-o-O

Sitting on the floor with his back against the wall and his body facing the window, Atem watched the sunset for the last time. He watched the beautiful golden sphere set behind the sandy plains, painting the skies with orange and red that marked the day's demise.

Ironically, it marked his too.

Silently, he pressed the blade on the pulse, gritting his teeth and hissing when the cold metal broke through the skin and dug deep into the flesh. It stung when the air flooded into the wound, revolting against the exposure and the cold. He watched with morbid fascination as a line of red appeared and gushed over the pale skin to spill on the ground.

Without a sound, he watched his blood flow out, appreciating the throbbing ache as his life force slowly flowed away and knowing he was getting weaker with each beat of his heart. Relief washed over him as the tendrils of darkness began to lick at the edge of his consciousness, dimming his awareness.

The skies, too, began to darken; dusk tinting the light with shades of dusky purple…overwhelming it.

_Wait for me, Father_...

Releasing the hold on the dagger, he stretched out his hand and flexed his fingers, trying to grasp the remnants of the dying sun...

_Wait for me, Mahado_...

Eventually, Atem surrendered to his weakened state, his hand fell to his side and the tricolour head dropped, forcing the chin to slump against his chest. The darkness was growing.

_Please... don't leave me behind_...

A soft smile ghosted the boy's serene face as crimson eyes slowly slid shut, locking out the view of Death as it came to claim him and the remaining light.

_My beloved... Wait..._

~TBC~

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note<strong>: Methinks, hell is gonna break loose in the next chapter and things will NOT be pretty, I can assure you.

In this chapter, I decided to cover a little of Malik's background. Here, we get to see a little of Malik's past and how he ended up with Bakura. One can say, Malik's devotion to Bakura stems from the latter's acceptance of him: Bakura gave Malik a sense of belonging; he gave him a home and freedom. One can see how an act so small, a choice generously offered could be construed as kindness to the deprived and pitiful youth.

As for Atem, one may question his actions, but I felt if a person was pushed hard enough, if he was faced with enough despair and felt he's cornered, he will take his own life. A scorpion is a fearsome predator, but if it thinks it's life is threatened with no chance of escape, it will kill itself with it's own poison. This was how I saw the desperate and sad boy.

So, I hope this tardy update was worth the wait despite the anguish and turmoil.

My thanks goes to: AyaSeth, Ma-chan, Arlownay1991, JBubbles, s2Teennovelist, Mel, Crimsonsrawberry17, Chibi, Ichi, Saranya1555 and Candyworld. Your wonderful comments are encouraging, I am truly grateful for your support on this fic.

As usual, I leave you a sneak-peek of what's to come and, as usual, I will tempt JBubbles to read it. C'mon JBubbles, you know you want to, right? Muhahahahahaha...

Preview:

_Bakura's breath jerked as he tore way from the group. Without stopping to give instructions, the Thief King quickened his pace to his sleeping quarters, the very one he shared with Atem. Anxiety increased with each harried stride, his feet noiseless as it pounded across the dirt ground and into his dwelling, not stopping until the stench hit him..._

Blood_. _

_Eyes widened when he recognised whose it belonged to. Bakura was familiar with the scent since he drew enough of it from the boy. _

Atem's blood_!_

_It occupied every nook and cranny of the room, it saturated the very air he breathed... stifling him... _choking him_ until he was unable to utter the boy's name. The feeling of dread staggered him._

_A movement near the foot of the bed pulled his gaze towards it. The dark-skinned man was kneeling on the floor, his head bowed as if in shame._

Rishid_. _

_Sensing the silent call of his name, the man lifted up his head to face his master. Sorrow and sadness was evident in the dull sunken eyes, fear and trepidation etched in the tired lines on his face. _

_The despondent figure alerted Bakura. Something was amiss. The tension around him was thick. _It was crushing him_._

"_Please forgive me, my lord, for I have failed you. Atem, he..."_

_Shaken by the entreaty and not waiting for Rishid to finish speaking, Bakura rushed to the bed and flung aside the gauze that surrounded it. A gasp was torn from the depths of his being as he caught sight of what was there._

_A small and pale body greeted him—its ethereal beauty made his heart clench—its eerie stillness shocking him speechless._

Atem_..._

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><p>A penny for your thoughts? I'd love to hear them.<p> 


	9. Chapter 9

_My sincere apologies for the tardy update. My laptop's decided to die on me and has gone for repair, so please excuse any errors and typos you may come across. Most of the chapter has been done on my iPad, which sucks because I am so crappy with the touch-screen keyboard! Anyways, I hope you enjoy my belated, but humble offering~._

_**Warnings**__: Angst, loadsa bitchiness and TORTURE! And the usual 'blah' applies . . . Woo-Hoo~!_

_**Disclaimer**__: I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh!_

O-o-O-o-o

As the exhausted procession entered the village, a few men scrambled forward to offer water and assistance to its members. The stables had been alerted and were on standby to tend to the horses upon their arrival and the beasts were led away as soon as the riders dismounted. All able hands were present . . . all, but one man. That one man remained by the bedside of one motionless figure, his body quivering with fear when news of his master's return reached his ears.

O-o-O-o-O

Bakura slid of his mount and looked around him for the familiar face of his lover. He had half expected his presence at the welcoming party, but equally knew the boy could be resting or simply avoiding him. Releasing a sigh, he patted his mount fondly and scanned the area for Rishid.

_He was not there._

Pale eyes narrowed suspiciously as he surveyed the surroundings once more, Rishid's absence was not to be taken lightly; in fact, his absence felt like the prelude to an impending disaster, one that involved the charge whom he had been responsible for.

Bakura's breath jerked as he tore way from the group. Without stopping to give instructions, the Thief King quickened his steps to his sleeping quarters, the very one he shared with Atem. Anxiety increased with each harried stride, his feet noiseless as it pounded across the dirt ground and into his dwelling, not stopping until the stench hit him . . .

_Blood_.

Eyes widened when he recognised whose it belonged to. Bakura was familiar with the scent since he drew enough of it from the boy.

_Atem's blood_!

It occupied every nook and cranny of the room, it saturated the very air he breathed . . . stifling him . . . _choking him_ until he was unable to utter the boy's name. The feeling of dread staggered him.

A movement near the foot of the bed pulled his gaze towards it. A dark-skinned man was kneeling on the floor, his head bowed as if in shame.

_Rishid_.

Sensing the silent call of his name, the man lifted up his head to face his master. Sorrow and sadness was evident in the dull sunken eyes, fear and trepidation etched in the tired lines on his face.

The despondent figure alerted Bakura. Something was amiss. The tension around him was so tangible . . . _it was forcibly crushing him_.

"Please forgive me, my lord, for I have failed you. Atem, he . . ."

Shaken by the entreaty and not waiting for Rishid to finish speaking, Bakura darted to the bed and flung aside the fine-spun gauze that surrounded it. A gasp was torn from the depths of his being as he caught sight of what was there.

A small and pale body greeted him—its ethereal beauty made his heart clench—its eerie stillness shocking him speechless.

_Atem_ . . .

Colour drained form his face, as he continued to stare. Then finally, unable to remain on his feet, he collapsed on the bed, leaning heavily on an arm to support himself.

"_Why_?"

Upon hearing the question, Rishid's head immediately shot up. Never had he, in all his years with the Thief King, heard him speak with hurt in his voice. It was merely a whisper, but it was evident enough. It could not mask the anguish that reverberated from that one word. Bakura may as well yell out his pain.

Holding his breath, he watched his master reach out and place two fingers on the boy's neck to feel for a pulse, his digits lingering on the weak throb it encountered before stroking the ashen face, cupping it and placing a soft kiss on the cold lips. Rishid's trepidation grew when the tanned fingers trailed down a slender arm and stopped at the wrapped appendage.

Picking up the thin wrist, Bakura unravelled the linen that bound it, carefully peeling it back as not to aggravate the wound. Luckily, Rishid applied a thick layer of balm on the skin to accelerate the healing; it also prevented dried blood from sticking to the fabric.

Once the linen was removed, the Thief King meticulously studied the wound, his eyes narrowing at what he saw.

The incision was too fine, the edges too clean to be made with a jagged shard of clay. It had to be a blade.

Turning to Rishid, he pinned the man with a penetrating glare. The former could sense the latter suppressing his fury—enough to voice the question as civilly as he could. "Where is the weapon?" he demanded.

Rishid clenched his jaw tightly together and swallowed thickly. Unable to tear his eyes away from his master's face, he looked numbly at him.

"The weapon," Bakura prompted, his face darkening with the stretching silence. He had gently placed the boy's arm on the bed and had stretched out his hand. The other could not refuse the command.

Slowly, Rishid dug his hand into the folds of his robes and pulled out a dagger. He reluctantly handed it over to his master—held it in front of his bowed head—cradled in his palms like a sacred offering to a god.

Bakura took the offered item and unsheathed it. Pale eyes studied the blade thoroughly, slid along the pommel and bronze edge before resting questioningly on Rishid's face.

The dark man baulked and gulped, steering his eyes away as he shifted uneasily. Bakura had an uncanny ability to sniff out deception—it was a gift that was revered and feared.

_He knows_, thought Rishid nervously. _He knows_.

"Rishid?"

The said man looked up at his master, fear radiating off his body as he began to sweat under his master's scrutiny.

"How did your dagger end up in Atem's possession?"

Rishid returned a green gaze to his master, the practised line ready on his lips. "I must have accidentally dropped it here when I was tending Atem," he calmly replied, but the involuntary twitch of the hands by his side betrayed him. Bakura noticed it. It was a sign of anxiety Rishid would exhibit when he's nervous . . . or lying.

The Thief King's lips curled with disapproval.

"So you are telling me Atem tried to kill himself with a weapon you carelessly dropped?"

The dark man responded with a slow nod.

Pale eyes thinned. "You are aware that I will discover the truth when Atem wakes. Do you have anything you wish to add . . . _or_ _change_?"

A firm shake of the head was Rishid's answer.

Bakura's hand shot out and a wide-eyed Rishid found the point of his blade pushed into his throat and denting the flesh. His mouth went dry, but he dare not swallow. The movement could essentially kill him.

"Then why do insist on lying?" Bakura snarled. "You think you can protect _him_ by offering yourself as the culprit? Do you think me gullible to believe your excuse? I am offended _and_ disappointed with you, Rishid."

Green eyes stared ruefully back at him, but the lips remained stubbornly sealed. Rishid refused to reveal anything more to his interrogator. The bravado lasted only briefly though.

Agile footsteps could be heard nearing the room; it caused the lesser thief's eyes to widen fearfully. _No_,_ stay away_, he thought frantically, willing his thoughts to reach the approaching man . . . warning him . . . _begging_ him to keep away.

Bakura observed Rishid closely; he saw the other's apprehension. He felt the large body stiffen with tension and terror. Had he not been overwhelmed with anger, he would have smirked at the man's obvious dread. With the dagger still pressed into Rishid's throat, Bakura slid his gaze towards the door.

As expected, Malik appeared; the slim form halted and leaned lazily on the frame as he scanned the room. Settling his eyes on the occupants, he made his way towards them. Bakura's eyes narrowed menacingly as he discerned the deliberate arrogance in the man's swagger. Whilst the Malik took in the two hostile men, his attention was adhered to the figure on the bed. Its motionless state drew him closer.

The Thief King detected the slight quirk of Malik's lips, which angered him. The hand on the dagger tightened and the tip of the blade unconsciously dug a little deeper into the flesh of the man he held captive.

Rishid sucked in his breath as Bakura drew blood. A spot of red beaded and trickled down his skin, trailing down his chest and thinning out until it no longer ran. Taking advantage of the other's distraction, Rishid tilted his head back a little to escape the blade. Much to his relief, his master did not notice the movement since he was too absorbed with observing Malik. Rishid wondered how long it would take before his fellow comrade condemned himself with his curiosity. Each nearing step he took announced his involvement in the crime, his body language branded him guilty and his expression displayed disdain mingled with _hope_. It was apparent who the real culprit was.

Atem drew Malik like a moth to a flame. It was a direct path to destruction, and one, Malik courted numerous times, but managed to escape by snuffing out the flame before it could destroy him. Only this time he had gone too far. He had ignored the fragile thread that tethered Bakura's benevolence by targeting the one thing that kept him agreeable and charitable.

_The boy_.

Standing beside the bed, Malik leaned down and peered eagerly at his rival. "What did I miss?" he asked with bored detachment, effectively masking his eagerness to know if he had succeeded in ridding the eyesore.

Resenting the tone in which the question was uttered, Bakura leapt off the bed and positioned the dagger under Malik's chin, his eyes ablaze with fury. "I don't know," he hissed. "Why don't you tell me, Malik?"

Malik's eyes held Bakura's fleetingly before shifting back to Atem. "And I would know _because_ . . .?" he asked slyly. He had yet to established whether the slut lived or not. From where he was standing, he couldn't tell and the others' reaction did not satisfy his curiosity either. He barked out a laugh to cover his agitation and said sweetly, "I was merely concerned for the boy."

Bakura lifted Malik's face towards him with the point of the dagger. It forced their eyes to lock.

Lilac met violet.

"Tell me, Malik," Bakura's strained voice clipped through the tension as his gaze bore down the younger male. "Where's your dagger?"

Rishid gasped, his eyes darting from Bakura to Malik, his fear evident in the expression he wore. He wanted to catch Malik's eye—he wanted to warn him not to readily condemn himself—that he had fixed the problem as well as he could . . .

Malik stared unblinkingly at Bakura. "I don't know, my lord," he replied, there was a hint of uncertainty in his voice, but the slight smirk on the lips contradicted the denial. It did not go unnoticed by Bakura. The Thief King's eyes tapered to thin slithers.

Mindful of the dagger at his throat, Malik gave a diminutive shrugged and added, "It's possible I may have misplaced it somewhere."

It was an excuse and they all knew it. Bakura gave Malik a forced smile. "How unlike you to be _negligent_ of your possessions, Malik," he drawled through the grimace. Digging the tip of the dagger a little deeper into the flesh as a warning against possible lies. "I find that hard to believe."

Malik chuckled at the remark; his eyes adhered greedily to his master's face. "It depends on the possessions, my lord. Some are dispensable. Others are not. The things I treasure most will not be lost or relinquished so easily, I am not careless with what I see as mine, I can assure you. Those who dare rob from me will suffer the consequences."

"Oh, and did it occur to you that I may feel the same about punishing those who dare steal from me—that I will not tolerate others touching what _I_ deem as _mine?_ If you were less obsessive, you would have realised this and heeded it."

Vexed beyond measures, the Bakura's declaration pushed Malik's tenuous control over the edge. "Obsessive? _Me?"_ he chuckled humourlessly.

Dropping his cool demeanour and all pretentiousness, Malik retaliated. His voice dripped with venom as he spoke the words that damned him, but he did not care. He got the results he set out to achieve and that was all that mattered.

"You are one to talk, Bakura," he sneered. "All I did was offer him a choice—merely provide him with a tool, so to speak. The decision was his to make—his to carry out. Can you accuse me of stealing from you if he chose to die—willingly chose death over a life with you? You should blame Death for taking what is yours instead of threatening me."

Bakura's hand around the dagger tightened. Rishid could see it took all of his master's control to stop the blade from plunging into Malik's throat. Malik's insolence was nothing new to either men, but what astounded Rishid was Malik's cockiness in the face of tragedy. It would not bode well for him at all.

"I see. Perhaps I have been too lenient on you, Malik. Perhaps you need to recognise the extent of your folly and understand that there are lines you do not cross . . ."

Malik bared his teeth and snarled, "Why, my lord? Why him? Haven't I proved my loyalty with my body, my blood and my life? Is my love not enough to break this infatuation you have for this boy? " He jabbed an angry finger in Atem's direction. "Besides, what is the life of one lowly wench—especially one that desired to die so badly it permeated the very air he breathed! Was it wrong to be charitable to his pathetic cause? If it were up to me, I would never have allowed him to die so easily. Slitting the wrist is too—"

Bakura pressed closer to Malik and entwined his fingers in the long, golden locks with his free hand and tugged it so hard that Malik's head snapped back violently. He peered down at the upturned face and growled, "The boy is _mine_. His body, his spirit . . . _his life_ belongs to me. _He cannot die unless I will it._" His voice and expression matched the menacing savagery the other displayed if not more as he stared down at his captive. He watched Malik's eyes widen with disbelief and answered with a thin smirk.

"T-then that means . . ."

"Yes, Malik," the Thief King declared triumphantly. "That means he still lives."

"Shit!" The violet eyes glided to the still figure on the bed; the expression on its owner's face was a mixture of anger and disappointment. "The useless bastard couldn't even do that right, could he?"

Rishid's warning to Malik came too late as Diabound materialised and grabbed him by the throat with one powerful hand and proceeded to squeeze it. The victim struggled against the beast's grip, but his strength soon depleted when the loss of air proved too much for him. Suspended in Diabound's grasp with the edges of unconsciousness advancing on him, Malik felt the full force of Bakura's fury. The feral gleam he glimpsed in those cold eyes sent a chill down his spine and terrified him . . . _the worse has yet to come, Bakura silently promised_.

Then everything went black.

Malik's limp body fell to the ground when Diabound disappeared. Rishid rushed to the unconscious man's side to check his pulse when Bakura made no move to do so. The Thief King's rage still hung heavy in the air, the punishment carried out by Diabound did nothing to placate it.

"Take him to the underground chamber and await my instructions," Bakura spat, dropping Rishid's dagger near the pair. It clattered to the ground with a loud "clang" and upsetting the eerie silence. Without sparing the pair another glance, Bakura turned and retreated to the bed once more.

Rishid retrieved his weapon along with the sheath and slipped it inside his robes. Then he gently gathered Malik in his arms and stood up. For a man his size, Rishid was deceptively nimble on his feet; his steps, even with his burden, were quiet and light. Mindful not to disturb his grieving master, he left the room. The flutter of robes was the only audible sound.

Bakura lingered beside Atem, his emotions fluctuating between anger and concern. The betrayal stung more than he liked to admit; the feeling of dread had slowly given way to worry as he stared down at the pale and still face. Judging by the deep cut, Atem must have lost a lot of blood, which meant he'd been bleeding heavily for some quite time before he was discovered.

As if seeking reassurance, Bakura checked Atem's pulse once more, his fingers lingering on the weak pulsations before trailing over a cold cheek, stroking it with the back of hand. The movements were slow and gentle, the gesture foreign and unfamiliar to the boy had he been conscious to receive it—had he not been lying there so still . . . so fragile_ . . . so dead to the world._

_Why?_

Gone was the defiance, the fiery countenance, the caustic retorts and in its place was an empty shell—a pale comparison to the boy who constantly challenged and defied him.

Gone was that burning glare of crimson—hidden beneath pale hooded lids.

Bakura's face contorted with rage.

_Why, Atem? _

The pledge the boy made was still fresh in his mind, it was the sole reason he _trusted_ him, allowed him the freedom. Now it echoed in his mind—taunting him—mocking him for believing those pretty lies spoken through pretty lips. The same lips that were part of the death mask the boy wore.

If words cannot not tie the boy to him then what can? How can he make the boy understand his life is no longer his own . . . that it belongs to the King of Thieves?

Troubled by his dilemma, Bakura's hands gripped Atem by the shoulders and began to shake him. "Why?" he asked repeatedly, his frustration increasing hundredfold with the unresponsive silence. Unable to look at the still face any longer, he crushed Atem against his chest and buried his face in the unruly hair. "_Why?_" he mumbled mournfully.

The unconscious figure stirred for a moment as if compelled to respond to the anguished plea. What he murmured before passing out again made Bakura stiffen and hold the thin body in a tighter embrace. If fear made him feel he would lose Atem should he relax his hold, then that fear grew immensely due to the five words uttered by a delirious, yet stubborn individual.

"_There's . . . no . . . reason . . . to . . . live_ . . ."

The Thief King knew what must be done.

O-o-O-o-O

Rishid cradled Malik's body in his arms, rocking his body back and forth like a mother soothing a troubled child. All the while, silently berating the unconscious man for his stupidity.

_Why couldn't you deny you had anything to do with it? Why couldn't you hold your tongue when Bakura asked you?_

Green eyes darted frantically around the familiar room, it was dimly lit with the employment of a few well-placed torches. The flames from the torches crackled and spat out tiny sparks, that and Rishid's swaying form were the only movements in the vast, airless, tomb-like room. Shackles and various instruments of torture, hung from the walls and a small raised marble platform with engraved posts on each corner, graced the centre of it. In one corner was a large chest, which to Rishid's knowledge, contained numerous jars and hand tools for small precision work on the human body.

This was Malik's favourite place and ironically, though for different reasons, it was Rishid's too.

Rishid would squander his time in here, trying to heal the crushed victims Malik would leave in his wake . . . _if_ they still lived. It was through this unsavoury collaboration that Rishid had managed to perfect his skill as a healer _and_ as a harbinger of death and torment. Mahado's concoction was the result of patience, forbearance and the gift of many unsuspecting victims.

Now, he and Malik were going to experience what the others' endured—courtesy of their irate master. Bakura seldom tortured his prisoners. _That_ honour was given to Malik who revelled in the deed. It made Rishid, much to his dismay, curious on how Bakura was going to punish them and with what methods would he use. Of course, he wasn't in a hurry to find out, everyone knew the King of Thieves was cruel and merciless if crossed. Rishid wished wholeheartedly he wasn't on the receiving end of it.

The sound of light footfalls drew him out of his reverie and he raised his head towards the doorway of the chamber, his expectant gaze alighting on the figure of Bakura entering the room looking grim. Those pale eyes were drawn to Malik.

"Tie him to the platform."

The command was curt and Rishid immediately complied. Getting up slowly, he carried Malik to the platform. The feeling of consternation steadily increasing with each step he took, whilst his heart hammered fiercely against his chest. Laying Malik on the hard and cold surface, Rishid turned, gathered some corded linen from the container and used it to tie Marik's limbs to the marble posts. He pulled on the bindings to ensure it was secured before facing his master for further instructions.

"Now go and sit beneath the shackles." A jerk of a chin informed Rishid where he needed to go.

And he silently obeyed.

Sitting down on the gritty floor and leaning his tall form against the wall, Rishid watched with acute interest as Bakura fastened the brass shackles around his wrists. When the latter was satisfied with his handiwork, he returned to Malik.

From the waistband of his shenti, Bakura produced a small vial, not dissimilar from the one containing the Ba suppressant. Pulling out the wooden stopper, Bakura squeezed open Malik's mouth and administered a few drops inside it, massaging the throat to induce the act of swallowing. Then he crossed his arms over his chest . . . and _waited_.

Rishid ran a tongue over his dried lips before speaking out. "What did you give Malik, master?"

Drawn out of his trance by the sound of Rishid's voice, Bakura took a few steps away from Malik and turned to Rishid. The Thief King's expression was neutral—inscrutable except for a faint glimmer in his eyes.

But Rishid was not deceived, he knew beneath that impassive countenance lurked a sadistic beast that was screaming to be let out. It was a matter of time before Bakura obliged it. The voice that responded to his question already held a trace of maniacal glee and it made Rishid shudder.

"This is something I obtained on one of my raids," Bakura supplied. "It's previous owner offered it to me in exchange for his life. He said a few drops would cause the body to feel like it was on fire from the inside. I tested it on him and watched him claw himself raw."

Rishid could only stare at Bakura in muted horror as the news of the potion's potency sunk in. It wasn't until Malik let out an ear-piercing scream, did he tear his attention away.

"Ah, the potion is beginning to take effect," Bakura remarked coolly. "Notice the rigidness of the body as the heat begins to swell inside. It starts off gradual then builds up at an alarming rate, spreading like a wild fire until it consumes the host completely."

Malik's body stilled for a heartbeat and then began convulsing, his bound hands involuntary clenching and unclenching from trauma. Bakura continued with the commentary, his voice sounding detached. "Now he is burning from inside out, the inferno is rapidly ravishing his body and mind. The clothing rubbing against his skin will only aggravate the sensation. With each movement, he is unknowingly rekindling that fire."

Sweat began to form on the writhing body and cries of pain were ripped repeatedly from the slender throat. Its pitch reminded the two men of a wounded animal and it broke heart of the larger male.

"No!" Rishid implored as he strained against the restraints, his face turned towards Bakura in a beseeching manner. "Please, my lord, let me bear the burden of his crime. I would gladly bear his punishm––"

"_Silence_!" Bakura roared, the command bouncing off the walls and echoing around them, giving it an ominous ring. "Your punishment is to watch him suffer."

"No! _Please_ . . ."

Bakura gave a brusque snort as he stared at the pleading man. "Do you think me unaware of your feelings for him?" he sneered. "Do you think me too blind to notice your eyes watching his every move? Suffice to say, this is adequate punishment for your deception. _His_ suffering will ultimately be _yours_."

Giving Malik one final glance, Bakura turned and began to make his way to the door . . . only to stop a few steps away from the threshold. Half-turning his head, he said, "Once the sun sets, I will send someone to free you. By then, the potion would have worn off leaving him disorientated and exhausted. You may tend to him then, but on the condition he remains bound. This reprieve will last until dawn. Once the sun rises, his torment will begin again."

The prisoner lurched forward, attempting to deter his leader from leaving. "How long will his punishment last?" he hurried out. The words spewed from Rishid's mouth before he could stop himself. From the tightening of Bakura's jaw, Rishid realised his mistake.

"Malik's punishment will last as long as Atem is unconscious," Bakura replied bitterly. "I think it fitting that his salvation should be in the hands of his victim. You had better, for his sake, pray the boy wakes up soon." Without another word, the Thief King departed leaving Malik and Rishid to their living nightmare.

O-o-O-o-O

_Four days_.

Four long, torturous days had passed and there was no change in their routine. As promised, a slave bearing food and water came and freed Rishid.

Quenching his thirst, but eating little, Rishid threw his effort into easing Malik's discomfort. With utmost care, he would remove all Malik's clothing, with the exception of his loincloth, and subsequently wipe down the sweaty body. To make the ordeal more endurable, Rishid did not redress Malik because he knew the marble beneath the other's bare skin would counter a little of the consuming heat.

Malik had yet to regain full awareness and the lucid moments were few and far between. Still, Rishid was pleased to be able to coax some water into Malik's weak body and provide him a remedy to relieve some of the damage sustained in his throat due to the endless screaming. If Rishid were lucky, the other would willingly partake a little nourishment too.

It was during these lonely times, Rishid was able to reflect on Malik's actions and see how easily the man was led astray.

Malik had always boasted about how he was favoured above the rest and such claims could not be denied. Bakura had treated Malik indulgently and spoilt him to the point of no return. Countless rivals were disposed without serious retribution other than a slap on the wrist and a reprimand from the Thief King. The worse Malik suffered was Bakura purposely ignoring him and bedding others.

That was the extent of Malik's power and he abused it.

Jealousy had always been Malik's worse enemy—it jaundiced his mind making him a covetous and dangerous man. Coupled with his own self-aggrandisement, it was inevitable he was going to get hurt and disillusioned when his position was threatened. He should have been mindful of his master's feelings before venting his displeasure on the boy. He should have realised why his master went out of his way to acquire the boy, but he ignored the signs and now he's paying the price for his recklessness. It was one thing to be asked to join the band of thieves, but another to be seized and forced to remain. It was clear whom Bakura desired more.

Inevitably, it caused Malik to destroy without thinking about the consequences. He was confident he would have gotten away with it, confident that Bakura would casually dismiss the offense.

And that was his downfall.

For all of Malik's deviousness and plotting, he miscalculated Bakura's attachment to the boy _and_ Rishid's sense of self-preservation. If Atem died, there was no way Rishid would survive Bakura's wrath.

During the four days, there were times when Bakura would visit, when he could tear himself away from Atem's side, he would sit quietly on the stone floor with his back against the wall, sipping on a goblet of wine whilst lost in his meandering thoughts. The sombre expression he wore informed Rishid his presence wasn't for mere entertainment. The latter knew Malik deserved the punishment and he knew why his master did it, but it didn't make it any easier or less painful for either of them to bear. The pale glassy eyes that stared at the writhing male did not hold amusement. On the contrary, Rishid knew the Thief King was hurting. He was hurting from the betrayal because he genuinely cared for Malik.

As time flowed in the dark chamber, no words were passed between the men. The only sounds that punctuated the oppressing quietude were Malik's helpless cries and whimpers.

_Four long days._

For four long, arduous days, Rishid prayed to every known deity for Atem to wake. He knew he was being selfish—he knew it was wrong, but his concern for Malik overwhelmed the guilt he felt for Atem with each passing day.

With the start of each day, the sinking feeling of dread accompanied it. Since there were no windows in the chamber, the passage of time was oblivious to him. All he could do was to wait for the emergence of his lord and master and the torment would begin again.

The disappointment was hard to bear when those recognisable footsteps echo down the steps and tread slowly into the chamber. The feeling got worse with each visit and there was nothing he could do about it except pray for change.

Then on the fifth day, the treatment stopped.

Dare Rishid hope when Bakura did not appear before them that morning? Dare he bask in the scant elation his master's absence provided?

The wait was excruciating and it wasn't until dusk was he informed the reason of his master's absence that morning. In fact, the slave who tended them seemed happy to divulge the news to the wary man . . .

The "princess" had finally woken from his slumber.

~_To be continued_~

O-o-O-o-O

**Author's Note**: My apologies for the lack of Atemness in this chapter, but I promise you'll get to see him in the next chapter . . . along with a few surprises. I hope you all enjoyed the tension and the confrontations throughout this chapter. For me, dialogue is always hard to write—especially when one has to capture the emotions of the speakers as well. However, it's done and the next one will, hopefully, be a blast . . . after all, one has to wonder how Bakura is going to deal with his little disobedient princess now he's awake, right? *Evil laugh*

So, here we have the penultimate chapter to the first arc of _Enslaved_. Initially, I wanted to get this over and done with in one chapter, but as you can see, the length deemed it impossible—plus minus my computer meant the feat was doubly impossible to complete. Let's hope the next chapter will not be too long in coming.

My eternal gratitude to those who left me their thoughts: Candyworld, Arlownay1991, Chibi, JBubbles, Ma-chan, Bakurafangurl91, s2Teennovelist, AyaSeth, CrimsonStrawberry17, yaminexus and my sweet Mel. I love you all~! *Hugs to death*

And my thanks to all who have read, faved and followed _Enslaved_, I can't believe this has more followers than my Pride fics. Wow!

Anyways, all thoughts are welcomed and cherished; I hope to hear from you soon.

* * *

><p><strong>Finally, here's the sneak-peek for the next chapter<strong>:

_Something did not feel right, he insisted to himself . . . like he was missing something . . . someone . . ._

"_Atem," he whispers hoarsely. The name was almost missed had the female not been so attentive._

"_Atem?" she repeated, somewhat puzzled. The name was not all together familiar to her. _

_It took a tremendous amount of effort to speak again, especially after a long time of having his oral senses suppressed, the voice was disused and the words sounded dry and raspy, grating his throat as it spilled out. _

"_Yes . . . Atem . . ." he said with a frown, trying to convince his confused mind to concentrate. He pressed a shaky hand to his throbbing temple and rubbed it. His frown deepened as he tried to piece together the fractured thoughts—to conjure an image to the name he uttered with such familiarity. _

"_It's someone important . . . I think." _

* * *

><p>I want my computer back! *Rage*<p> 


	10. Chapter 10

_The wait is not as long this time, but still . . . forgive? I hope this super-uber-long chapter makes up for the tardiness. My love goes to those who told me how much they enjoy this fic and look forward the updates, I am so touched. Thank you so much. Now please enjoy~._

_**Warnings**__: Lemon/smut/Man-with-man-sex and the usual 'Blah' applies . . . _

_**Disclaimer**__**: **__I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh!_

O-o-O-o-O

_"I am not sure if you can hear me, Mahado," the voice said hesitantly, "but I want you to know that I love you . . ." There was a pause and then a small chuckle. _

The damp cloth felt cool against his feverish temple. The ministrations were gentle and caring. "Atem," he murmurs, his hand reaches out and grasps the hand with the cloth—the long, slim digits curling greedily around the slender wrist.

The action elicits a gasp from his captive forcing the man to crack open an eye . . . to see blue eyes, set in an arresting face, peering anxiously at him. Stunned, he releases his grip and tries to sit up—only to find his vision swimming before him. With a groan, he slumps back onto the bed and covers his eyes with the back of his hand.

Something did not feel right, he insisted to himself . . . like he's missing something . . . _someone_ . . .

"Atem," he whispered hoarsely. The name was almost missed had the female not been so attentive.

"Atem?" she repeats, somewhat puzzled. The name was not altogether familiar to her.

It took a tremendous amount of effort to speak, especially after having his vocals suppressed, the voice was dry and the words sounded raspy, grating his throat as it spilt out.

"Yes . . . Atem . . ." he said with a frown, trying to convince his confused mind to concentrate. He pressed a shaky hand to his throbbing temple and rubbed it. His frown deepened as he tried to piece together the fractured thoughts—to conjure an image to the name he uttered with such familiarity.

"It's someone important . . . I think."

He felt tired; the tendrils of sleep still had its hold over him, making him dazed and befuddled. If it weren't for his anxiety, he would be content to sleep again.

"I am afraid we only found you at the deserted camp, no one else was there."

Eyes flew open and all traces of sleep fled him as the words sank in. He slowly removed the hand from his face to reveal a pained expression. He eyes dull as he stared at the speaker, "He's not here?" Deep in his heart, he already knew the answer.

_"I know this is not the ideal time to make a confession, but I do not want to regret not telling you because of our circumstances. For me, it is now or never . . ."_

The question was choked out; his companion could tell how reluctant it was spoken because he feared the answer. She shook her head sadly and watched him close his eyes once more and place his hand over them again. It hurt her to see such pain from one so young; the brief glimpse of emotions he bared manifested the heartache suffered from the loss of the one called "Atem".

He let out a shuddering sigh; the sound carried a certain note of acceptance. The female wanted to say something to comfort the stranger, but she didn't know what. The silence seemed to stretch on forever and the latter thought the invalid had fallen asleep again. She was startled when he spoke.

"I am grateful to you for saving me," he said softly, dropping his hand and turning to face her. Once again, brown eyes shadowed with anguish were revealed. "To whom do I owe my life to?"

The female's gaze softened. "I am Isis and I am a member of the pharaoh's hunters, a group founded for the purpose of hunting felons who are a threat to this kingdom. It so happens Bakura, the King of Thieves, is our present target, hence we came across you. And you are?"

The male turned his gaze away and focused it on the ceiling above him, his mind lost in thought.

_"I am not sure if you can hear me, Mahado . . ."_

"Mahado," he muttered hesitantly at first, but continued resolutely. "My name is Mahado."

A smile flitted across Isis' face before sobriety masked it. "Tell me, Mahado, do you remember anything prior to this? Your capture, perhaps?"

Mahado's brow creased in concentration as he dug deep into his mind, but came up with nothing. His blank expression informed Isis of the answer even before he had the chance to admit it.

Mahado shook his head wearily. "No, I am sorry, I cannot recall anything," he confessed. The tone of regret was heavy, and it added weight to his grieving heart.

"It is expected," sighed Isis, unable to suppress the look of disappointment on her face. "If you recall anything at all, please do not hesitate to tell us. We need all the information we can get if we are to capture Bakura."

"He got away?" It was more of a statement than a question.

"Yes," Isis replied, the frustration was evident in her voice. "He managed to slip away when we were almost upon him. The devious man even succeeded in a raid before fleeing. He is always one step ahead of us, taunting us as we struggle to keep up with him. All that he left behind was you—bound, unconscious and on the verge of death. It was almost as if he was willing to let you to die to mock us for our delay. I shudder to think what would have become of you had we arrived a day later."

Mahado grimaced. "How long have I been unconscious?" he asked curiously.

"Eight days," the female enlightened. "Your body's been burning up since we found you. I suspect you've consumed something to induce such a reaction and your body's been trying to rid it with a help from your Ka."

Mahado looked vacant as he took in the information.

Taking pity on the confused man, Isis laid a gentle hand on Mahado's arm and said, "I am a healer and also a foreseer. I can sense spirits residing within a person and I know there is one living inside of you. Granted it is a little weak, but I can assure you it is there. It's very protective of you."

Mahado reached into his mind and tried to establish a connection with his spirit. He felt the faint pulse of energy from his Ka's as it responded to him—silently calling for him. The feeling of familiarity caused him to act in kind and the words to spring from his lips, "Guardian Spirit, I bid you to come forth." The air rippled briefly and then all was still. "Guardia—"

Isis held up her hand to stop him, her neat features drawn in a tight frown. "I think you should allow your body to purge the poison first before trying again," she warned. "In your weakened state, I advise against another attempt. Rest for now and we will continue the discussion later."

Mahado nodded his agreement. His temple and body had beaded with perspiration from the summoning. He loathed admitting it, but the female hunter was right. Closing his eyes once more, he allowed himself to drift off.

_Atem_. His mind hummed the name and caressed it with nostalgia. Why? He did not know. Why would this faceless name evoke such sense of loss, causing him to ache with longing?

Unable to keep the fatigue at bay he fell into a dreamless sleep, appreciating how the velvety darkness numbed his sorrow and misery.

_Atem_ . . .

O-o-O-o-O

When Mahado awoke, he saw Isis sitting at a large table not far from his bed. Spread before her were numerous vials, jars and plants whilst in her hand she held a small pestle. She was quietly grinding something inside the mortar. Her actions revealed her consideration for the sleeping youth. Mahado knew pounding the substance in the mortar would yield quicker results than grinding it. Nevertheless, he was grateful for her thoughtfulness.

He made a small noise in his throat to show he was awake—that she could go about her task without the fear of disturbing him. She turned her head around and, upon seeing him awake, sent him a smile.

Getting up, Isis walked over to a smaller table and picked up a clay jug. She filled a small beaker with the jug's content before setting it down and walking over to Mahado.

"Thirsty?" she asked, placing herself on the low stool next to the bed and watching Mahado with faint amusement as he tried to sit up. The movements were weak, but he managed eventually. Isis handed him the beaker and Mahado gulped down the water greedily.

"More?" she offered when he returned the beaker, but her companion declined with a shake of his head. Humming an acknowledgement, Isis placed the beaker on the floor and reached inside a small pouch attached around her waist. Carefully, she pulled out a small linen wrapped item and offered it to him.

Mahado stared at the item nestled in the palm of her hand, his face a picture of bewilderment as he looked up from Isis' hand to her face. The item remained with Isis.

"This was found on your person when a fellow hunter, Karim, tended you. It was conspicuously hidden in your attire and not easily found had Karim not been forced to remove your clothing to bathe you." Isis fixed her eyes on her hands whilst her cheeks burned from the effects of her comment. She did not look up until she saw shaky fingers remove the item from her possession and began unwrapping it.

Mahado stared at the heavy gold ring in his hand. The size belied its hefty weight and the design was exceptionally detailed. It signified fine workmanship. Picking it up, he turned the ring over repeatedly, carefully examining it whilst hoping—no, willing the action to trigger some recognition in his memory.

_"The ring is now yours, my love. Wear it with pride and make father proud." _

The words were laced with pain. Closing his eyes, Mahado's hand reached up to his cheek as he felt something ghost over it, like a hand tenderly cupping his face as soft lips pressed into his . . .

_"If you value the freedom gained, do not look for me . . . Such encounter will bring nothing but humiliation and grief, for I will no longer be the person you once knew. Let me go and forget about me—that way I will feel I have accomplished something worthy. Your bartered freedom, at least, will not be for nothing."_

"Atem . . ." he whispered. He knew the grief-stricken voice and the phantom touches belonged to the one named Atem. If only he could remember. If only he could recall the face to the disembodied voice. If only he could remember his past!

Frustration caused his head to throb and he instinctively curled his fingers around the ring and pounded his fist on his temple.

"Lie down," Isis ordered, drawing his hand away from his head and holding it against his chest. "I am going get you a remedy for your pain, but you must promise not to hurt yourself if I release your hand. Do you agree?"

Mahado nodded feebly.

Letting go of his hand, Isis got up and quickly went over to the table where she selected a tall vial. Clutching it tightly in her hands, she hastily retraced her steps and knelt on the floor beside the reclined figure on the bed. "Open your mouth," she instructed firmly.

Mahado complied readily.

Pulling out the stopper, she cautiously tipped the bottle on its side and tapped it expertly. A single drop spilled out of the vial and fell into the waiting mouth. "Don't move," she said, repeating the action and adding another drop. "Now swallow."

Mahado closed his mouth and swallowed, his face twisted into a grimace as he tasted something bitter slide down his throat. The aftertaste distorted his face further.

"I know it is bitter, but it works wonders," Isis supplied. She stopped up the vial and rose to return the vial to the table. There she remained, settling herself once more in front of the work Mahado's wakening had interrupted. "Rest now. When you wake up, you will feel better."

Responding with a sigh, Mahado was about to close his eyes when he remembered the ring he was holding. Opening his hand, he picked the ring up and slid it on the fourth finger of his left hand. It was too loose. Taking it off, he slid the ring on the third finger instead. It fitted perfectly. Holding up his splayed hand, he looked at the adornment with a critical eye. Questions played across his mind as he continued to stare. Mahado knew the only way he was ever going to find answers was to find Atem and to that he would have to find Bakura.

Satisfied with the revelation and strangely comforted with the weight on his finger, Mahado closed his eyes and allowed sleep to claim him once more. Somewhere deep in the recess of his mind, he felt the familiar voice brush against his awareness, teasing him, haunting him, and yet giving him strength to live on . . .

"_I love you all my heart."_

Mahado smiled and his heart murmured "_Atem"_ in return.

When Isis looked over her shoulder to take a peek at the sleeping figure, she was surprised to see a small smile curled on Mahado lips. Returning her attention to her work, the healer gave a smile of relief.

O-o-O-o-O

"So you wished to join the hunters?"

Mahado looked at the short, elderly man with the big amethyst eyes and bushy beard, and nodded. "Yes, I wish do," he confirmed solemnly, his voice and eyes emitting sincerity.

He had been resting for seven days and had recovered to the point he was able to move about—albeit a little weak—but able nonetheless. The fever that plagued him had subsided and the toxins in his body had been purged. Due to his frail state, he dared not summon his Ka even though he itched to do so. Like the ring, which now permanently adorned his finger, it was a part of his past he could no longer recall. Isis said his memory could simply be repressed and that familiarity could cause it to surface again.

Perhaps, he seeing his Ka would jog his memory?

Despite his eagerness, he held back. Isis had repeatedly warned him to avoid strenuous tasks and he heeded her advice stoically _after_ he blacked out from trying. The scolding he got from his carer along with the bludgeoning headache convinced him to quell future urges. With very little to do, he let his thoughts roam and it inadvertently harked back to the mysterious Atem. The name was the only thing he was certain of. It was like a beacon of light in the darkness that shrouded his mind.

The desire to remain with the hunters had gotten stronger as the days passed and he bought the matter up with Isis. She informed him to talk to Lord Shimon, the leader of the hunters, which resulted in Mahado's current situation. Schooling his features neutrally, he continued to look passive as the elder scrutinised him in silence.

"You are young and have a long, fulfilling life ahead of you. Why squander it in a life dangerous as ours? It is wise to rethink your decision, young one. I suggest you not act hastily and reconsider."

Upon hearing Shimon's words, Mahado's jaw tightened, the muscles flexing as he bit back the retort that threaten to force its way out. Inhaling and exhaling deeply, he told himself calm down before speaking again. He did not want to offend the elder if he could help it. "With due respect, my lord," he said steadily, "I have had plenty of time to think this over whilst I was recovering, therefore it is not a decision made on a whim. Though young I may be, I am also determined and dedicated. I shall not disappoint should you allow me to stay."

"Mighty words for an untried whelp such as yourself," Shimon scoffed. "You should understand this is an elite group of individuals. Each one is handpicked to serve the Pharaoh in his pursuit to rid the kingdom of rogues like Bakura. You will have to earn your place with us."

"Then give me a chance to demonstrate what I can do," Mahado pleaded.

Shimon chuckled humorously. "Then summon your Ka so I may judge for myself if you are worthy of joining us or not."

Mahado nodded and took a few steps back. Closing his eyes, he channelled his soul energy into his Ka, pulling it forward as he called it forth, "My Ka, I summon you to appear before me!" Warm brown eyes opened to see his Ka materialise.

A dark, shadowy faceless figure hovered in the air in front of him and loomed over the elderly leader. Its arms were crossed over its chest in a neutral stance, awaiting its master's orders. In one of its hand held a long staff.

Mahado's face lit up with joy on seeing his Ka, but fell when he failed to feel anything more than a sense of familiarity. Recognition was not enough to unlock his memory. He swallowed his disappointment.

"Though weak you are, your Ka is quite impressive," Shimon commended, his voice dragging Mahado's focus back to his Ka. "However, relying on voice summoning is a grave risk. Should you lose the ability to speak, you will be disadvantaged."

The spirit disappeared along with Mahado's enthusiasm. The youth bowed his head and looked down dejectedly, preparing himself for the rejection he knew was coming. Instead, he was met with a resigned sigh from Lord Shimon.

"You show immense promise and talent for one so young," Shimon said slowly. "And I am prepared to give you a chance to prove yourself." Mahado's head shot up with hope. The glimmer in his eyes revealed his optimism. "Accomplish mind summoning in fourteen days and you've earned your place amongst us. Is that acceptable?"

Mahado nodded vigorously. "You'll not regret this," he promised, his eyes bright with excitement.

Lord Shimon looked at the youth and shook his head in disagreement. "It is not I who should fear regret, young one," he sighed.

O-o-O-o-O

Lost in the realm of darkness, Atem was vaguely aware of someone angrily shaking him. He was handled so roughly that his teeth rattled.

"_Why_?" The question was repeated with a shake, the force of it equalled the fury in the voice.

_Bakura_, Atem's mind supplied through the haze as the latter repeated the same word over and over again like a chant.

"_Why_?"

Pulled from the brink of oblivion by the grief-stricken tone and the engulfing embrace that was crushing his body, Atem stirred slightly, his voice barely audible as he breathed out his reply.

"There's . . . no . . . reason . . . to . . . live . . ."

Then he slipped into the darkness once more.

O-o-O-o-O

_Light_.

Piercing through his eyelids and causing him discomfort. With a groan, he turned his head towards the shadows—to hide from what was blinding him and making his head hurt. The movement did not go unnoticed by the man lying beside him.

"So you're finally awake, Princess."

Atem's eyes opens wide to the voice, but closes them immediately after. A scowl marring his face because of the man he least wanted to see.

_He_ was not Mahado.

Choosing to keep his silence, he turns his head away—only for the thief to still his movement by grabbing his chin.

"I am most displeased with you, Atem," Bakura said offhandedly; the brutishness of the grip belied the outward signs of casualness. "You pledged to remain by my side for as long as I live, yet you dare go back on your word. Was it wrong of me to trust you? Was it foolish of me to _believe_ you would keep your promise?"

Crimson eyes simmered with rage. Had Atem not been so weak, the glare would have seared Bakura. "What about your promise to me? What about Mahado's freedom?" Atem spat, unable to restrain the tirade of bitter-filled words at the Thief King. "I do believe _you_ were the one who broke your promise first! If anyone had the right to feel aggrieved, _it wouldn't be you, lying murderer!"_

Bakura narrowed his eyes at the angry boy, his grip tensing a little. "I fail to understand what crimes you are accusing me of," he growled. "I instructed Rishid to free Mahado before we left for Kul Elna, which he later informed me he did. The pest, though unconscious at the time, was left unbound to recover and leave at will. I have no reason to believe Rishid was lying to me."

"So you plead ignorance to the knowledge that Mahado was left unconscious, bound and gagged. That you didn't know he was left in a helpless and powerless state to die a slow death?" The pinning glare turned into menacing slits. "Are you calling me a liar?"

"I am calling you a fool. A _gullible_ fool who was tricked into taking his own life by another fool!"

Atem gave a derisive snort. "Nothing you say will persuade me to believe you. Mahado was my everything, he was the reason I was willing to endure this foul life I loathe so much." He tried to pull away from the bruising grip. "His safety was the _only_ thing that kept me tied to you. He's the reason I continue to live. Now, with him dead that reason is gone. I would gladly give up my life than spend another moment with you!"

Releasing his hold, Bakura flipped Atem onto his back and pinned him there by the shoulders. Nudging the boy's legs apart with his knees, he settled in between them and stared down at the trapped male, his pale eyes burning into crimson.

"And nothing will convince you otherwise?" the thief asked.

"No. Without him, I am all but dead," was the numb reply.

Stung by the words, Bakura crashed his lips onto Atem's, taking the opportunity to force his tongue into Atem's mouth when the latter gasped in surprise. Initially, he was planning to be gentle when he fucked the boy . . . but now, his anger was dictating his actions. It made him aggressive. Fuelled by his resentment and abstinence, the treatment was rough and desperate. It had been days since he had tasted the boy and he hadn't sought a substitute. The whole sordid mess had dulled his libido.

The need to breathe finally compelled him to tear his mouth away. His breathing was ragged and laboured as he stared down at the terrorised boy.

"Then I shall give you a new reason to live!" Bakura growled, before latching onto the Atem's neck, his teeth biting and marking the slender throat. Enjoying the shocked boy's lapse, he made quick work of his clothing. The feel of warm flesh beneath his was exhilarating. And it jolted the motionless body into an agitated frenzy.

Atem tried to shove the thief off him, he threw all his strength into the push, but in his weakened state and the pain emitting from his wound, the attempts were feeble and inadequate. Furthermore, the squirming only served to excite his assailant more.

"Get off me, you brute!" Atem resorted to beating the man with a fist. The said fist was easily captured and pinned next to his head. Bakura did not even pause in his assault. Atem dare not use his other hand to attack so he began twisting his body in hope it would throw the man off him . . . or at least, dislodge him from where he was between his legs. The feel of the other's clothed arousal pressed against his bare flesh was disconcerting. He doubled his efforts to escape by using all means necessary.

"I said 'get off me'!" With his free hand Atem reached for the hair at the back of Bakura's head and grabbed it. The thief gave a look of surprise when his head was tugged away. He didn't have the chance to react when Atem's head smash into his.

"Shit!" Bakura had the breath knocked out of him, but he recovered quickly. "Fine, if that's how you want it, then we will play rough." He didn't know if he should be annoyed or pleased with the boy's feistiness. Either way, he was very turned on and he longed to be buried within the boy's tight heat.

Turning Atem onto his front with his arms pinned to his side, Bakura sat on the boy's back, his thighs pushed against the side of Atem's body thus adhering the arms in place. Combing his fingers through the dark spikes, Bakura grabbed a handful and pulled the captured head towards his own. Leaning down to Atem's ear, he whispered softly, "I need to get the oil to prepare you with so I am going to release you. I expect you to be a good boy and wait patiently for my return. Do you understand?"

Atem replied with a contemptuous snort, which earned him a harsher tug on the hair.

"Tsk, you may be unappreciative of it now, but when I penetrate you, I'd think you'd be grateful for the thought. Now, are you going to be a good boy and hold still or are you going to continue fighting?"

He was awarded with the profile of the boy's glowering face and his sullen silence.

"Do I have your cooperation or not?" Bakura's voice was firm as he gave the head another tug. His patience was thinning. All it required was another provocation, intentional or unintentional, from the boy and he was going to fuck him dry! "You lost a lot of blood already, don't make this any harder than it needs to be!"

Atem hissed at the pain emanating from his scalp and causing his eyes to water. "Damn you, murdering thief!" he spat. "Do you think I _care_ what happens to me now? You either overestimate your hold over me _or_ underestimate my desire to die! I willingly handed over my body, my life to you in exchange for Mahado's freedom and his life. Why? _Why_ did you not ensure his safety, why did he have to die? Why did Malik want him dead?"

The outburst ended on a sob as angry tears gathered and trickled down his face. Atem closed his eyes and gulped down the rest of his sobs.

"It's for the same reason Malik wanted you dead," Bakura sighed, releasing his hold on Atem's hair, but not on his body. Without the support from the hand, Atem's head slumped onto the bed. All fight had fled him. "I never ordered to have the rodent put down. _If_ it died, it was not by my orders I can assure you."

"It's because of you he died!"

"_If it died_, Princess. Rodents are surprisingly resilient! Besides, Malik may be lying to taunt you."

Atem opened his eyes and gave a bitter laugh. "Malik was very explicit with the details. In fact, he seemed to revel in imparting me with the information. He was certain th-that . . ." Atem let out a shaky breath, "that he would die slowly and painfully from thirst and hunger with scavengers feeding off him. He wouldn't have gloated as much as he did if he hadn't actually carried out the deed. The man gains pleasure from such cruel acts."

Grimacing, Bakura could not deny the accusation. He knew Malik was more than capable of killing Mahado to spite his rival and the said methods was befitting of Malik's sadistic nature. It gave him another bone for him to pick with the idiot, but that would have to wait for another time. For now, he was eager for the reunion between him and the boy. All irritating thoughts were pushed aside as lust replaced annoyance.

Shifting back until he was straddling the boy's legs, Bakura's hands glided down the boy's back, enjoying the smooth skin beneath his fingertips. He felt the boy tense when his hands reached the groove of the supple back. Smirking at the reaction, Bakura lingered on the area by massaging circles into the flesh with his thumbs. His lips soon joined the teasing digits and his tongue flicked out to lap at the heat his caresses left behind.

The hands and lips soon continued downward where it came to a stop on the buttocks. Parting the cheeks, Bakura's tongue darted out and licked the crevice. It caused Atem to hiss and involuntarily tremble in response. His arms, freed from the loose hold, were stretched out before him with hands clenched in fists.

Confident he had the boy subdued, Bakura got up to retrieve the oil. He also picked a small bundle wrapped in fine gauze and returned to the bed with it. Dropping himself on the edge, he placed the jar of oil on the floor and began unwrapping the bundle. Deftly discarding the wrapping, he delicately picked up the item.

The gold dragon armlet glinted in the light. Its slender scaly body shone bright and its ruby eyes winked enticingly at the beholder. The workmanship of the adornment was unparalleled. It was to be expected as it was a gift to the Pharaoh for his upcoming wedding, but it wasn't that which attracted him. It was those ruby eyes—so like Atem's that drew him to it. He knew he had to have it for his princess the moment he laid eyes on it.

Taking the boy's right arm, he slipped on the armlet and slid it upward until it rested snugly in the centre his upper arm. It complemented the boy's nakedness perfectly.

Unmoved by the gift, Atem paid it scant interest. He did not bother to acknowledge the other's generosity either . . . not that the thief expected it. Bakura could feel the boy's churlishness rolling off in waves; the resentment pervading the very air they breathed. An expression of gratitude was the last thing he'd expect from the angry male.

Ignoring it, the thief stared hungrily at the still form, his eyes crawling from the armlet and along the smooth planes of the naked body. Unable to resist the temptation, he placed his hand on the boy's neck and ran it along his back, tenderly tracing the ridges of his spine. However, instead of stopping on his buttocks like before, he continued over them, down the toned thighs and along a slender leg. Then he switched legs and trailed his hand up the other limb, retracing the journey on its counterpart.

Atem remained quiet; the only indication of awareness was a tiny shiver when Bakura's hand passed along the small of his back. He let out a growl of annoyance when the other gave a satisfactory grunt and leaned over him. He inwardly flinched when he felt chapped lips pressed against the nape of his neck and lavish its way down. The hands that rested stationary on his hips began to get restless again. Palms pushed down on the silky flesh and massaged languid strokes into it. The more heated the kisses, the more ardent the touches.

"I've missed you, Princess," Bakura purred between the kisses that punctuated the admission. No longer content with the unresponsive boy, he grabbed his lover and turned him over. A surprise yelp and he found, much to his delight, startled crimsons staring up at him.

Refusing to restrain himself any longer, Bakura reached down and retrieved the jar of oil. Opening it, he dipped three fingers in it and replaced it back on the floor. He saw Atem stiffened when the realisation struck him.

"Now you can show your appreciation to the gift with your body, Princess."

The red orbs slid away. "Do what you want, I don't care," Atem said lowly.

Bakura's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

Atem shrugged, his bandaged arm twitched against the bed. "Do your worse—enjoy it while you can because given the first opportunity, I'll be nothing but a lifeless corpse. That much I promise you."

"Why?" Bakura demanded, jerking his head away from the boy so he could glare at him, his tolerance evaporating fast. He had a feeling he wasn't going to like the answer he was going to get.

"Need you ask? You took away my reason to live."

Fury now replaced the gentleness he had been exhibiting. Hurt by the other's callous remark and his insolence, Bakura gave up being considerate. He plunged two slick fingers into the other's opening without so much as a warning.

Wide-eyed with pain, a choked cry escaped Atem as he instinctively tried to push away from the invading digits. His attempts were futile. Bakura firmly held him down by the shoulder as he mercilessly jabbed him, hastily adding another finger into the tight heat.

"Why the resistance, Princess?" Bakura sneered, eyeing the boy's cock with growing interest. "I thought you didn't care what happens to you?"

Bending over the writhing body, he took Atem's limp member in his mouth and began sucking it. The action elicited a reluctant moan from his victim. Encouraged by the sound, Bakura removed his fingers and parted Atem's legs. Climbing over him, he knelt between the spread-eagled limbs and pulled Atem's lower body onto his lap. Taking his erection in his hands, he gave it a few hurried strokes with his lubricated hand before rubbing the tip on the puckered entrance. His impatience compelled him to push fully into the boy with one fluid thrust.

The boy arched his back off the bed, a pained strangled noise emitting from his parted lips.

"So tight!" Bakura grounded out between his teeth. The tension in the boy had caused his passage to clench around his length in a relentless grip. He couldn't move because of it. "Relax or it'll hurt a lot more," he advised tersely.

Despite the earlier bravado, Bakura knew the boy was hurting. However, pushed and taunted beyond endurance, he couldn't stop himself. Pausing long enough for the boy to loosen his hold on his cock, he slowly slid out and slid back in again, maintaining this rhythm for a little while longer until desire took over and he was slamming into the small body with increasing fervour. It had been too long and he was the end of his tethers. If guilt wracked his actions, he didn't show it. The only consolidation to be had from his aggression was the sudden moan that tore free from the boy's throat when the head of his cock brushed against a certain part of the other's inner wall.

Relishing the response, Bakura focused on pleasuring the boy by repeatedly stabbing that part of his body and tweaking the nipples—pinching and pulling the cinnamon nubs until it hardened and became too sensitive to touch. The boy whimpered from the sensation. Releasing the nipples, Bakura rubbed his thumb along the boy's swollen lips, pressing it into the gap when it parted to cry out. He shoved two redundant fingers in the boy's mouth and watched enthralled when the latter began unconsciously sucking it. Bakura groaned as the tongue swirled seductively around his digits, coating it with its moisture.

Then removing it, he took the boy's cock into his hand and began stroking it to the rhythm of his thrusts, rubbing the slit with the wet fingers. He watched with satisfaction as he coaxed the other's flagging member into a hardened rod. The moans harmonising with each stab into the hot, moist passage, it intermingled with the sound of heavy panting and the rubbing of wet flesh.

Bakura felt his cock being squeezed from the inside. The boy, nearing his climax, had instinctively locked his limbs around Bakura and was pushing his hips up to meet the thief's downward thrusts. Bakura could feel his control slipping. With a throaty groan, he attached his teeth onto the soft curve of the boy's neck and bit hard on the tender flesh. Atem growled from the simultaneous pain and the pleasure and responded in kind by raking his clawed hands down the thief's back, scoring the tanned flesh with his nails.

It made Bakura reacted that much rougher. The thrusts increased in speed and ferocity and the teeth dug deeper. Driven by Atem's cries, he gave in to the inner beast and fucked his lover hard. The heat that encased his cock was intense; the fleshy walls swelled and tightened around his shaft causing delicious friction that chafed it raw.

Arching his back with a husky cry, Atem's seed spilled into Bakura's hand. The fluid oozed white as it leaked out of the pulsing cock and trickled down the fingers that fisted it. Atem surrendered his body to the spasms that assailed him and rode out his climax. In turn, the contractions provided additional stimulation to the one who caused them. The convulsions squeezing the intruder's appendage with such aggression that it could not but to yield to the demands.

Bakura came with a roar. The intensity of his climax and his loss of control had his Ka materialising. Atem in his half-conscious state thought he saw the beast appear behind its master, its transparency denoting its wielder's wavering composure and his tenuous control. It disappeared within a few heartbeats.

Collapsing on top of Atem, Bakura paused to calm himself. His breathing came out in rapid, short and greedy gulps that wafted over the sweaty body beneath him. Pushing his upper torso up and supporting it with his elbows, he gazed down the boy who was still panting heavily, half-lidded crimson held his gaze briefly before looking away.

Witnessing Atem's barefaced defiance, Bakura chuckled softly. Unwilling to pull out of his lover's body, he picked up the discarded gauze and wiped his hand with it, disposing it on the floor when he finished. The movements caused discomfort to Atem who struggled to free himself. He tried to push the bulk that was the Thief King _out_ and _off_ his body.

However, Bakura wasn't so obliging. He hadn't had his fill yet.

Tut-tutting his disapproval, Bakura grabbed Atem's hands with one of his and held them above the tousled head. Ignoring the pain from his wrist, Atem snarled and glowered at him. The feral display triggered a twitch from his embedded cock.

"I haven't quite finished with you yet, Princess. Since you so valiantly claim you couldn't care less what happens to your body, I will use it as I see fit." Bakura leaned his head forward to lick the bite mark on Atem's neck. He then pulled back after and grinned. "I will, however, grant you leniency if you renounce that foolish notion of taking your life. Whether you believe it or not, your pledge to me is still binding as I have not done anything to invalidate it."

Atem scoffed contemptuously at the thief, the look of hatred he threw reinforced his hostility. "Do your worse, bastard. May you be damned for an eternity for your crime."

Bakura stiffened at the boy's sobering words; the smile froze for an instance before flattening out to a grim line. "As you wish, Atem." There was no playfulness in his voice and his subsequent ministrations were cold, and void of passion and pleasure for both the participants. Bakura continuously ravished the boy if only to make him rue the words he uttered. The ordeal lasted until dusk—until he was too spent to even ejaculate and the boy, drifting in and out of unconsciousness, no longer screamed or moved.

Silence enveloped the room as Bakura unsheathed himself from Atem's body. The mixture of blood and semen coating his limp cock, and oozed from the latter's opening. The boy had finally passed out from exhaustion and pain.

Rolling onto his back, Bakura flung an arm over his head and stared into the distance with a tired sigh, his thoughts straying to the still form beside him and the situation they had landed themselves in.

It didn't surprise him to learn of Malik's treachery and admittedly it was part his fault for evoking the latter's jealousy by blatantly favouring the boy in front of him. He should have known better than to flaunt that preference and wound Malik's ego. The order to have Mahado freed was like rubbing salt into the said wounds. Had he not been so blinded by the boy's presence and distracted by his request, he would have acted more cautiously. Experience had taught him to be wary of Malik's possessiveness. Retaliation pertaining to Malik's resentfulness was to be expected.

Huffing exasperatedly, Bakura turned on to his side and rested his head in the crook of his arm. He looked solemnly at his lover. The rise and fall of the small chest caught his attention. Reaching out with his free hand, he gently traced the bruises and bite marks that littered the skin with his finger, connecting them all with an invisible line. Breaking off the pattern, the finger swirled in a circular motion and trailed to the red-eyed gold dragon encircling the boy's arm, the pad of his finger fondly caressing the engravings.

The gift was to replace the ring from the boy's father. The Thief King suspected the boy had got rid of it—or given away. Since the move to Kul Elna, Bakura had not seen it. The pest was the likely recipient though how Atem had passed it to him was a mystery. Not that he cared. It was better this way. Like this, Atem managed to sever himself from his past. By giving up the things that had sentimental value to him meant he no longer wished to linger on that part of his life. A life that is now dead to him . . . _just like he claims he is dead to life itself_.

The dark thoughts made Bakura withdraw his hand from the boy. He curled it into a tight fist and adhered it to his side to stave off the temptation to shake the boy for his foolish thoughts. He needed to make Atem see he would not be allowed to do as he pleased. He needed to learn his place. Until he tires of him . . . _if_ he tires of him . . . Atem will remain by his side. And nothing and no one can change that. He will ensure _everybody _is aware of it.

O-o-O-o-O

_Fire_.

_Screams_.

The smell of burning and the sound of screaming encroached on his senses, pulling him away from the oblivion that cushioned him from the horrors and pain of consciousness . . . _of reality_. Atem drew his brows together and let out a small whimper.

"Nice of you to join us, Princess," a familiar voice chuckled. "I suggest you wake up and pay attention. It would be a pity to miss the performance done in your honour."

On hearing those words, eyes snapped open to reveal confusion. Atem blinked several times to clear the fog from his vision . . . and noticed a smirking King of Thieves looking down at him. He also noticed he was reclined in Bakura's arm with his head tucked under the crook of the latter's neck. The thief was mounted on his steed, which pawed the ground impatiently. He was about to protest about the position when the pungent smell of smoke hit him.

Spinning his head around, the sight that he encountered had him stunned with disbelief.

They were situated on the outskirt of what appeared to be a small village—a small village _ablaze_ _with fire_. People were screaming and running amidst the dancing flames of red, orange, yellow. Grey smoke rose in the night and billowed around them, the fumes choking all those who were near.

And standing tall and menacing in the centre of it was Diabound.

"What are you doing?" Atem demanded, steering his gaze away from the scene and fixing it on Bakura, appalled at the destruction and carnage the Spirit had wrecked. "Make it stop _now!_"

Bakura chuckled softly again, his gaze hard and unwavering. "I am giving you a reason to live, Princess," he replied slyly, a smirk curling on his lips. The light from the fire reflected across his face, painting it in violent hues. He turned his attention back to the fire. The burning chaos was hypnotic and captivating. Its beauty mesmerised him.

"What do you mean, Bakura? Explain yourself!" Atem discerned glint of insanity in those pale eyes when it looked at him again.

"You need a reason to live . . . I am giving you one." Atem flinched from the fiendish look on Bakura's face. "Each time you attempt to escape or try to kill yourself, I will respond by burning down a village. Die and a kingdom along with its subjects will be your funerary companions. Do I make myself clear, Atem?"

Atem shook his head vigorously. "Make it stop, Bakura . . . _please_!" He begged with his voice, his eyes . . . his body should the thief asked it of him . . . except Bakura didn't. Instead, the thief gently picked up the injured wrist and unravelled the linen wrapping it; kissing the wound when it was exposed.

"Only you can make it stop, Atem. You have the power to decide whether these people and others like them live or die. Your life tied with theirs. One life for the many, I think it is a fair exchange, don't you agree?" Bakura cajoled deviously. "Accept my terms and the remaining lives will be spared, but don't take too long deciding. My patience has its limits." To reinforce his point, Diabound sent a fiery blast at a group of fleeing villagers. Bodies were thrown in the air, landing scorched and motionless on the arid ground.

"_NO!_" Atem was frantic, his eyes darting from the victims to Bakura and back again. Bakura stared at Atem impassively; the weighty silence adding further pressure to the frightened boy. With his remaining strength, Atem grabbed the thief's outer robe and pulled himself up until his face was a hand span away from Bakura's. Terrified crimson bore into the thief's, pleading for mercy. Tears from the smoke and his distress stung his eyes. He felt sick and faint; he knew was going to pass out. Doing his utmost to ward off the advancing darkness he appealed for compassion once more. "Please have mercy on them, Bakura. I beg of you!"

Yet Bakura remained undeterred. "Your promise will be their mercy, Atem." The reply was cold and brusque; the voice was devoid of emotions.

Fringing on unconsciousness, Atem finally gave in, his submission slipping from his lips as his consciousness slipped from his mind. "I promise to remain by your side as long as you'll have me. Take me, break me . . . _kill_ me. Do whatever you want with me . . . just . . . make . . . this . . . madness . . . stop. _Please_ . . . " The hands that gripped Bakura's robe loosened and dropped down to Atem's side. The ordeal and the subsequent upheaval of emotions had him pass out from exertion.

Bakura released the hand that held the reins and wiped the fallen tears from the boy's face. His lips set in a harsh line.

"I am glad you've decided to comply, Atem," he murmured softly. "Now your punishment is to bear the mark of ownership for all to see. It will serve to remind you of your subserviency and your total surrender to my will. Your life belongs to me, my Princess. I will ensure you'll never forget it!"

Casting one final look at his handiwork he grabbed the reins and recalled Diabound. Guiding his mount away, he left the scene. The drumming of the horse's hooves drowning out the sound of cackling and cries. A smirk of satisfaction played on the thief's lips as he rode away.

Not everyone suffered a loss that night.

O-o-O-o-O

When Atem finally regained consciousness, he had a dark coppery image of Diabound etched in his upper left arm. The tattoo of the serpent, presented as an Ouroboros*, coiled possessively around his limb with the beast's head and body stretching from shoulder to mid-upper arm. It's wings extended to the front and back of his shoulder and flattened across a small area of his chest and back. Carrying the markings of his master, the King of Thieves, none could refute whom he belonged to. Bakura was right when he said he would not let him forget his place _or_ his promise to him. The scar he bore on his wrist served to remind him of what was at stake should he attempt to take his life again. It already cost the lives and homes of one village. He dare not repeat the deed again in fear of the consequences. He had learnt his lesson.

Closing his eyes, he felt his master weight settle on top of him. Moist lips pressed against his skin, dampening the flushed surface. He gasped aloud as the ministrations becomes more heated and forceful . . .

_Fate is cruel._

Mahado, his beloved is dead whilst he is forced to live a life he did not want—enslaved to man whom he did not love.

Bakura is his master now, his owner and his lover. He cannot run, he cannot hide and he cannot escape. He can only accept with crushing resignation what fate has ordained for him.

Fingers move over his body . . . fondling, grabbing, invading . . . _reminding_ him of whom he belongs to. His master penetrates deep into his body, ploughing his rigid length into the fleshy folds like a farmer cultivating his land.

Except for the sounds of their coupling, all is quiet.

Before long they climax and his master injects and _sows_ his seed into him. His treacherous body greedily absorbs it—sucking and squeezing everything out.

Basking in the afterglow of their orgasm, they remain tangled together. Both his arms are entwined around his master's neck. The marks of possession are stark against his clammy skin. The armlet on his right arm gleams obscenely in the semi-dark room while the Ouroboros taunts him.

_Bakura_: _The King of Thieves. Murderer. His master . . ._

Fate is indeed very cruel.

~To be continued~

O-o-o-o-O

**Author's Notes**: Yay! As promised there was plenty of Atem in this chapter to make up for the lack of it in the previous, I hope it was enjoyable. Furthermore, we now know what happened to Mahado, right? I am sure there will be some sighs of relief amongst some of you readers along with a few groans of disgruntlement from others. *winks*

Finally, the first arc of the story is done! I can't believe it's taken ten chappies to get to the point were I actually _began_ writing the fic back in November 2011. The next chapter is the first ever chapter I wrote for _Enslaved_. It's hard to believe it's taken me this long to get to my starting point, lol~! It is ironic that so far, all this is just background. I curse my verbosity!

In the next arc, we will see a jump in time. There, we will meet our characters _three years_ after the events of this chapter. It's exciting as we get to see a mature Atem and Mahado. How have the years change them, if it did at all? Will Mahado regain his memories? Will he reunite with Atem? How did Atem fare during those three long years with Bakura? Did Bakura manage to tame his fiery captive? And finally, is Malik still scheming to rid of Atem? New characters will be introduced along the way. I hope it will continue to keep you on the edge of your seat and captivated.

I thank each and every one of you who left your thoughts with me. It's wonderful to know you enjoy the story and it's kept me inspired throughout. I am truly grateful for the love and generosity you've all shown me. Without your encouragement, I would have doubted my ability to pen a Casteshipping fic since I am _way_ out of my comfort zone here. I am fortunate your input has kept me on my toes and ensured the characters did not become too OoC.

I hope you lovely people will continue to support me, it makes me super happy to hear from you, old and new readers alike. *hugs all*

O-o-O-o-O

**Here's a little peek of what's to come. Please enjoy**:

_After the irate man's departure, Bakura smiled. Heated eyes ogled hungrily at the vexed figure sprawled gracefully before him, his bare legs tantalisingly apart. Eyes travelled slowly upwards to the face whereupon he stared at the wound. Bakura licked his lips. He found Atem most exquisite after a fight; there was this wildness about him that he found mesmerising and it made him hard. His stiff cock twitched in appreciation._

"_Got into a little scruff again, Princess?" he asked, amusement colouring his voice._

_Atem glared back at him, his lips fixed in a pout. He stubbornly remained silent._

O-o-O-o-O

*Ouroboros: A symbol of a serpent or a dragon eating its own tail.


	11. Chapter 11

_I am so sorry for the tardy update, but real life commitments and having to work /procrastinate on a _Berserk_ gift-fic for my sweet Mel had taken up a lot of my time. However, I am back and I present to you my humble offerings. _

_Initially, I said the chapter was nearly done but, after fleshing it out, I have managed to triple its length. I hope it's acceptable. _

_Please enjoy~!_

_**Warnings**__: Lemon/MxM smut, a wee bit of violence and the introduction of a few minor OCs. The usual 'Blah' applies and all errors will be amended in due course. Ignore what you see~._

_**Disclaimer**__**: **__I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh!_

O-o-O-o-O

The sun glared mercilessly down onto the arid plains, the surrounding cliffs pocketing the heat to an unbearable level. The small convoy trudged tiredly through the barren wastelands on horsebacks. More than a few men complained and cursed the conditions they were subjected to, the soaring temperatures did not improved their mood.

Unbeknownst to the group, a heavily cloaked figure was spying on them from the edge of the precipice, the slight form hidden behind a large craggy rock. Bright eyes studied the weary group, the quick mind taking in the situation and assessing it accordingly.

The convoy consisted of six men; the observer deduced the rider in the middle was the courier while the other five were either hired mercenaries or bodyguards employed to protect the precious cargo it was escorting. The gods saw fit to grace the pharaoh with a second son, so gifts from far and wide were dispatched and offered to the royal family.

However, not all the goods reached its destination. The thief king's coffers were laden with riches at the expense of the newborn prince.

Once the observer had seen enough, he turned and swiftly made his way towards the group that was waiting impatiently out of sight and a distance away.

"The scout was correct. There are six men in total," he informed the tall, cloaked man as he heaved himself onto his horse. "Five of them, I believe, are mercenaries which leaves one charged with the goods."

The man waited for his companion to settle on his mount before speaking. "How would you like to approach the situation, Atem?" the dark male asked, even though he knew the answer.

"As peaceful as possible, Rishid," came the expected reply, the rich voice was assured and steady. "I do not want unnecessary bloodshed, not when we outnumber them by ten men to six."

A few groans of protest rippled through the group, but Atem ignored them.

The dark head dipped in acknowledgement to the orders. "Then I'll leave you to negotiate with them," Rishid replied, pulling the hood of his cloak over his head. "However, should they attempt to draw blood, the men and I will not hesitate to retaliate. I'll rue the day if mishap should befall on you; your safety is my utmost concern. I am here to protect you, regardless if it's from the enemy," green eyes narrowed at their group, "or from one of our own. I must abide by our master's wish before yours, Atem. Please remember that."

A derisive snort was Atem's answer as he steered his horse around. Raising a hand in the air, he silently motioned his men forward.

O-o-O-o-O

The sun was beginning to set and a light breeze wafted playfully in the air, stirring up grit and sand, and blowing it across the stable's courtyard. The clatter of hooves came to a halt as cloaked figures pulled on the reins of their horses before releasing them. The rider of the white steed pushed back the hood of his cloak and gracefully dismounted.

Rishid, who was following closely behind on a grey mount, did the same.

"First, I need clean up before presenting myself to Lord Bakura," the youth said, wrinkling his nose and eyeing the blood splatters on his cloak and arms with disdain. His desire to avoid the spilling of blood was futile and his attempts to reason with their targets failed miserably. Their prey did not want to surrender without a fight and their deaths had left him in a sour mood.

"In the meantime," Atem continued, "you go and report first. I am sure Lord Bakura would be anxious to learn the details of today's raid and see the goods."

A brusque nod of affirmation was sent his way. "Very well, I will let our master know you'll be with him shortly," Rishid conceded, clutching the spoils. He was about to march towards the main hall in search for his master when the voice of Naeem hailing Atem stopped him. Turning around, Rishid watched the boy, Bakura's personal herald and the runt of the litter—whom scuttled back and forth relaying messages and spying for his master—approach Atem.

Atem was looking at the boy contemptuously.

"What is it, Naeem?" The question was spat out venomously.

Unfazed by the hostility, the young messenger calmly informed Atem of his master's orders. "Lord Bakura wishes you to go to him as soon you return," he imparted. "He's in his sleeping quarters right now."

Refraining from rolling his eyes, Atem grunted a response and began to make his way to the thief king's private quarters. It was then he came face-to-face with a burly man who stepped in front of him and barred his way.

Kemnebi was one of the participants in that day's raid.

The youth stiffened slightly to the threat the man presented, but he held his ground.

Squaring his shoulders, Atem looked Kemnebi in the eyes. "I suggest you to remove yourself from my path, Kemnebi," he advised coldly. "You heard the boy, Lord Bakura is expecting me so it might be wise not to detain me further!"

Refusing to move, the intimidator leered at Atem and said, "It's alright for _you_ to get some action while we have to do without! Don't you think it is a little unfair, _slut_?"

Kemnebi did not discriminate when it came to whom he fucked and he was notorious for taking unwilling victims, be it women or men. With such entertainment in mind, it was the reason he had volunteered for that day's mission. However, it was Atem who led the group and it was Atem who thwarted his amusement. Now, he was going to make known his disappointment.

Narrowing his eyes at the taunt, Atem tilted his chin up and scowled at the offensive man. "Get the fuck out of my way, _filth_!" he snarled.

Undeterred, the brawny man moved a step closer to his victim; his height enabling him to stare down at the shorter male.

"Why don't you compensate us for our losses today?" he sneered, a hand reaching out and thumbing the full lips, parting it slightly. "You never know, you might even enjoy it!"

A few surrounding men jeered at the spectacle. The insinuation implied in the remark was rather amusing.

Atem looked up the assailant through half-lidded eyes and smirked seductively.

The man's breath hitched and his eyes widened as he continue to stare. The boy was usually beautiful to behold, but he was most irresistible when he was being provocative. That sultry look he wore was just begging for someone to fuck him raw. It was no wonder Bakura claimed him for himself!

Kemnebi licked his lips and Atem's smirk widened.

Drawn to the beauty, Kemnebi bent his head down to the claim that inviting mouth. In response, Atem's arms reached out and wound them around the other's midriff then, bringing his knee up, he smashed it into the larger man's crotch.

A gasp was heard from the onlookers, their faces grimacing to the agony their comrade received.

Kemnebi doubled over and grunted in pain, his hands nursing his bruised groin.

Atem's smirk grew. He had learnt a thing or two by studying Malik. Since both were at a disadvantage where height and built was concerned, they learnt to fight dirty. Satisfied he had made his point; Atem strode past the injured man . . .

A hand shot out and was clamped tightly onto Atem's arm. The act was surprisingly swift for someone Kemnebi's size and it left the youth stunned as he was spun around to face his assailant.

"Get your filthy hands—" Atem began, but was abruptly met with Kemnebi's backhand across his face.

Cheers of triumph were heard.

Holding his cheek with his free hand, Atem glared briefly at Kemnebi before ramming his fist into the man's left eye. The punch did not pack much strength behind it, but the fact that he drove his knuckles into the socket made it very effective.

Once again, the attack threw Kemnebi off. Releasing his hold, he staggered back a few steps whilst covering his eye defensively.

This time Atem did not allow him to recover.

Without hesitation, he threw another punch—this time at Kemnebi's jaw—causing the man to stagger back and then stumble forward in shock. Taking advantage of the stooped position, Atem grabbed Kemnebi's head and pushed it down whilst simultaneously bringing his knee up to the face. Blood poured out from Kemnebi's nose as his head jolted back from the impact, but the furious youth was not finished. Letting go of the man, he laced his fingers together and smashed his joint fists into the bloodied face in one powerful swoop. The sound of his knuckles connecting to bones and flesh delighted him.

Kemnebi fell backwards onto the ground, his form knocked out cold. A few men stepped forward to avenge their fallen companion, but the appearance of an outstretched arm stopped them.

Rishid's stern face sent them scampering back.

Atem looked gratefully at the silent man and returned his gaze at the defeated one, giving the unconscious body a nudge with his foot. Satisfied he was well and truly incapacitated, Atem spat on him.

"Try that again and I will _kill_ you!" he growled.

The spectators knew the threat was not so much directed at Kemnebi than it was at all of them. They swallowed audibly as they watched the proud youth retreat with his head held high.

O-o-O-o-O

Instead of going directly to Bakura as he initially intended, Atem made his way to his quarters. The desire to remove Kemnebi's touch from his skin outweighed even the threat of Bakura's displeasure.

Upon entering the room, he grabbed a copper basin and cloth from the table and headed towards a large clay water vessel.

Placing the basin on the floor, Atem picked up the copper ladle that rested on the lid of the vessel and lifted off the lid. Plunging the ladle into the container and scooping out the water, Atem began filling up the basin.

When it was done, Atem returned the lid and utensil to its former place and picked up the basin. Moving carefully to the table, he replaced the basin and proceeded to strip off his cloak, sandals and tunic. Dressed only in a loincloth, he wrung out the cloth and gently applied it to his face. A soft hiss involuntarily escaped him and he angrily cursed his assailant with a string of abusive words. Mingling with the thieves for too long had enhanced his vocabulary with vulgarity and coarse speech. The time when he was an articulate and well-spoken young man seemed nothing more than a distant memory.

Reaching up to his cheek, Atem pressed on the wound and winced at the pain. Inspecting his finger, he pulled a face when noticed a smear of blood staining it; it seems Kemnebi's ring cut through skin when he slapped him.

Sighing with a shrug, he dabbed delicately at the cut with the cloth. There was no point fretting over something so trivial. Aside from the fact he would be exhibiting a bruised cheek tomorrow, it was nothing new. He was already used to the treatment and the challenges each day brought about. The men were not very tolerant towards Bakura's favoured one.

Not that Atem cared.

No, _they_ were the least of his worries . . . it was their leader whom he was apprehensive about.

Tearing himself away from his reverie, Atem quickly finish cleaning his face and began on his body; wiping off the dirt, blood and stench until his skin prickled from the damp coolness. The cloth glided over the tattoo of Diabound and his scar. The former was imposing as the day it was inked into his skin and the latter was no more than a faded white line that marred his now tanned skin.

When he felt clean enough, Atem disposed the water in the courtyard outside and set about getting dressed.

Throwing the dirty clothes into the reed basket in the corner of the room, he slipped on a fresh tunic. Made from fine-spun linen, the garment draped elegantly over his slender form. Everything Bakura provided was nothing short of the best. The luxurious things that were bestowed on him were plentiful and it made idle tongues wag. Envious stares and malicious comments were a common daily occurrence; Atem endured the insults as well as the benefits, it could not be avoided. Try as he might to be impervious to the treatment, it still hurt.

Three years, the thief king coddled and pampered him—even going so far as to allow him to lead small raids to alleviate boredom. Thankfully, the events were few and far between, and it usually involved low key and 'safe' missions with Rishid accompanying him. Since the incident with Malik, Bakura did not trust him and Malik alone together for any long period of time, let alone away from his vicinity. When Bakura went away, Malik _always_ went with him.

Atem was grateful for the consideration.

The embittered man was still very hostile towards him. Even after three years, Malik's hatred had not lessened. On the contrary, it steadily increased with each passing day Atem spent with Bakura. It enraged Malik to no ends because the man hated _sharing_.

Atem exhaled his annoyance. The feelings between Bakura's two warring lovers were mutual; he couldn't stand Malik any more than the other did him, even though Atem did nothing to earn that resentment.

On the surface, nothing changed. Bakura still sought out Malik for heated trysts and passionate nights together. However, no matter how much attention Malik received, he could not oust Atem from Bakura's side and that did not go down well with the lesser thief. Having secured the sympathy of the camp, Malik made Atem's life a living nightmare.

Three years Atem had to endure the animosity, the taunting and the assaults. Even under Bakura's protection he wasn't safe. If it were not for Rishid he would have broken long time ago.

The thought of Rishid made Atem smile. The taciturn man had taught him to fight—had lent him strength when the whole camp was against him. He was the pillar supporting the fragile structure that was Atem and he was the one who persuaded him to stay strong.

Despite his closeness to Malik, Rishid befriended and mentored him. Atem was grateful for having the selfless man as an ally because he was comfortable around him. Given the chance, Atem would spend most of his free time with the man, feeding off the other's knowledge and learning the ways of a healer. The experience, though enjoyable, did bring up some painful memories.

Absently tracing the scar with his thumb, Atem thoughts turned to Mahado.

Even after three years, the pain from his loss had not lessened. He still continued to grieve. The physical scar he sported was a permanent reminder of his failure, it symbolised everything he lost: his freedom, his identity . . . and his beloved. But, the mental scar he bore was etched far deeper than the external blemish on his skin.

Unlike the latter, it could never heal.

_Mahado_ . . .

He missed those expressive cinnamon-hued eyes. He missed the soft, yet, firm voice. And most of all, he missed the warm and gentle touches. Whether it was the feeling of large hands holding onto his whilst guiding him through the streets on one of their rare excursions, or the feeling of a warm, toned chest pressed onto his back whilst he slept . . . Atem missed it immensely.

The passing of time had not dulled the yearning or the need. Bakura could not fill the void Mahado's death had left in his heart nor was he able to relieve the ache that throbbed mercilessly from deep within. If anything, Bakura provided a reprieve—a buffer against the onslaught of pain his memories brought about, but he could not erase it.

And the thief king knew it.

No matter how hard Bakura dove into his body to drive out the past, no matter how persistent he was to make him forget, Atem was unable to let go. To this day, three years on, Mahado still haunted him.

On some days he would escape to the small oasis situated on the border of the village and there he would bare his tortured soul to the skies and release his pent-up anguish in sobs that wracked his body. At the beginning, this was a regular occurrence. Atem would exhaust himself crying and pass out from the exertion. When he woke, he would be lying on his side in bed, at home, with Bakura's arms wrapped possessively around him.

_Home_ . . .

Atem laughed mirthlessly at the word and the meaning it entailed.

Home was a small settlement in the middle of nowhere, where he spent the last three years of his forced captivity.

Home was his prison where he was constantly watched.

Home was where he couldn't fit in, where he was never accepted. He would always be the outsider no matter who joined after. The thieves would watch him with cagey nervousness, the animosity between himself and Malik straining the tension more. Despite the indifference he exhibited, he hated the place.

_Home was Kul Elna_.

Shaking his head, he sought to dispel the gloomy thoughts that clung to his mind. Bending down, he slipped his sandals back on and tied them slowly. He was in no hurry to meet up with Bakura; one challenge was enough for one day, he wasn't in a hurry to endure another so soon.

Straightening himself up, he smoothed down his garment before setting out. With no desire to make haste, Atem went leisurely on his way.

O-o-O-o-O

Cast off clothing were strewn on the floor, its owners too occupied to care about the way it was carelessly disposed.

Bakura was sitting on a chair and Malik was kneeling before him, lavishing his attention on the other's erection with his mouth.

Sliding his tongue up and down the thick length, Malik lapped at it with relish. Swirling a tongue around the head of the cock, he pressed the tip of his tongue into the weeping slit. Bakura moaned aloud with pleasure, his hand caressing silky head.

Seeing his lord with his defences down, Malik took the opportunity to air his grievances.

"The men are discontented with the way your pet is handling the raids," he said, planting small kisses down the shaft. "For them, there's no thrill in simply just plundering. They need more than that to satisfy their carnal and predatory needs."

Bakura remained silent, but he tensed ever so slightly. His grip on the other's hair tightened a fraction; it went unnoticed by the other.

Malik was oblivious to the change; instead, he mistook Bakura's passiveness and continued. "They don't want _him_ accompanying them anymore. He curbs their fun and taunts them with his wantonness. He's a distraction and only good for a fuck—"

Bakura thrust upwards into the open mouth, deep-throating the unsuspecting male. Malik gagged when the head of Bakura's cock hit the back of his throat.

"Don't you have something better to occupy your mouth than to bitch about Atem!" Bakura growled, his hand fisting the blonde hair tightly and yanking the head away from his body. Pale eyes glared at the smaller man, the irritation all too evident for the other to see.

Teary-eyed from the unexpected assault, Malik looked accusingly at his master, but remained quiet.

"Good, now are you going to stop whinging or shall I find someone else to replace you?"

Silently, Malik shook his head. He did not want to be replaced. The rough sex he enjoyed and the unrivalled pleasure he got from Bakura was not easily provided by anyone else, no matter how many partners he had. Rishid was a close substitute, but even he could not re-enact the savagery Bakura demonstrated. Malik shivered keenly at the thought, his body straddling Bakura's so he was poised above his partner's cock.

Bakura hummed with approval. "That's better," he smirked, his hands grabbing Malik's trim waist and, without warning or preparation, slammed the slender body onto his.

With the rough penetration, Malik screamed with joy.

O-o-O-o-O

Atem stormed into the room and threw himself on the nearest seat, huffing loudly as he did so. Although he wore a mask of detachment as he stared at the adhered pair before him, inside he was seething.

_How dare that lackey outside try to prevent him from entering!_ _How dare that_ _man_ _impertinently inform him __"Lord Bakura is busy at the moment."_

Atem inwardly sneered at the insolence. It wasn't as if he was here by choice! If given the chance, he wouldn't be _here_ at all!

His eyes burned with an intensity that marked his indignation. Without dignifying the snub with an answer, Atem pushed the man aside and crossed over the threshold. If Bakura didn't want to be disturbed, he could tell it to his face! For most part, Atem was hoping for that outcome anyway.

Bakura snorted in response to the rude intrusion. The grin, which slowly spread across his face, meant it wasn't entirely unwelcomed.

"Leave us," he ordered the person he abruptly detached himself from and roughly pushing away.

Stunned and hurt, Malik gaped at his leader.

"_What_?" he asked incredulously. He couldn't believe he was being dismissed due to the appearance of the upstart.

"I said, 'Leave us,'" Bakura repeated, not even looking at the person he was addressing; his attention was focused solely on the unconcerned male in front of him.

Enraged beyond words, Malik gathered his discarded garments and hurriedly put them on. His cock was flaccid and his desire gone. Bakura certainly knew how to belittle someone! Never had he felt so humiliated and it was all because of _him_! That little shit was going to pay dearly, he wasn't going to let that _nobody_ get away with it!

Making his way hastily towards the door, Malik muttered "Bastard" under his breath. Both men heard it, but neither of them knew whom it was directed at.

After the irate man's departure, Bakura smiled. Heated eyes stared hungrily at the vexed figure sprawled gracefully before him, the bare legs tantalisingly apart. Eyes travelled slowly to the face whereupon he stared at the wound. Bakura licked his lips. He found Atem most exquisite after a fight; there was this wildness about him that he found mesmerising and it made him hard. His stiff cock twitched in appreciation.

"Got into a little scruff again, Princess?" he asked, amusement colouring his voice.

Atem glared back at him, his lips fixed in a pout. He stubbornly remained silent.

"You should allow the men a little fun now and then, you know," the thief king advised. "It would satisfy them _and_ save you a lot of trouble."

"So you think raping and killing indiscriminately is fun?" the youth asked angrily.

Bakura shrugged. "They seem to think so, so why deny them?" he replied casually.

In all honesty, his men needed the distraction to counter their boredom. The promise of uninhibited pleasure was what made them follow him to hell and back again. He wouldn't dream of restraining them during the raids, it was their animalistic barbarity that made them feared and effective. It bought terror into people's lives; and it meant others would not be so willing to betray them if they knew retribution would be severe.

"You, of all people, should know my feelings on this kind of behaviour," Atem insisted, "how I detest such actions!"

"But see what happens when you anger the masses," the thief stated, gesturing to the injury on the tanned face.

"The 'angry masses' had been taught a lesson they won't forget in a very long time," a smug grin accompanied those words. "I don't think Kemnebi will be fucking anyone any time soon."

Bakura snickered a response. "I am sure you can take care of yourself, Princess, but my advice to you is: allow them some entertainment and you'll be spared the bother."

Crimson eyes darkened with displeasure and Bakura shivered with anticipation.

"You don't help matters, _bastard_!" Atem protested crossly.

"_Ooh_?" Bakura enquired with a raised brow and a smirk. "How so?"

"Because you treat me like a woman, they think I am a bitch and see me as one!"

Bakura laughed heartily, beckoning his lover over with the crook of his finger.

Atem remonstrated with himself; he knew had to obey sooner or later, but he wanted to show his defiance too. To upset the leader was a bad idea; he was the one holding back his enemies and there were a lot of them. Judging by the sulky looks thrown at him today; he made a whole lot more.

Despite his early bravado, Atem knew would be finished without Bakura's protection. He wasn't impervious to the ravenous looks or the leers the men sent his way. If Bakura tired of him, his life would not be worth living—not if it meant being raped on a daily basis by the whole camp. It's been three years and Bakura had shown no inclination towards easing his possessiveness or his lust. He was as libidinous as he was on the first day—if not more—but it didn't mean he wouldn't change his mind eventually.

Deciding to comply with the order, Atem reluctantly got up and sauntered towards his master. Upon reaching Bakura, Atem stopped and waited.

Bakura reached out and pulled the latter towards him, guiding the smaller body to straddle his lap and mount it. Then, leaning in towards Atem's face, he licked the wound gently before pulling back.

"And you resent that?" he asked, his lips twitching at the corners as he stared into the glowering face.

Atem puckered his lips and looked sullen.

"Is it so bad to belong to me?" he questioned, a hand lightly trailing under the tunic and caressing a firm thigh. "Is it wrong for me to want to monopolise you?

"Then I become the bane of everyone's joke! They won't take me seriously because of our relationship," Atem complained bitterly, thumping the thief king none too gently on the shoulder. "Just because I am favoured, they think I have no merits of my own; that I gained authority through whoring myself to you. I am tired of having to prove and defend myself, Bakura; and you're not helping matters."

Bakura pulled back a little and stared at the boy. "You are mine, Atem, whether you like it or not. I have chosen you for myself and your markings prove that," a finger idly traced the tattoo; the action spoke of his possessiveness. "Others should be aware of the dire consequences of touching what's mine."

"But you fuck others too . . ." Atem countered petulantly.

The thief smiled. "Are you jealous, Princess?" he teased. "If I don't seek an outlet elsewhere, are you able to handle my constant demands? As much as I want to consume you only, I doubt your body can handle it or am I being too considerate?"

To make a point, Bakura's hand began to stray shamelessly, stopping only when it rested around the crotch. Deft fingers removed the undergarment, unwinding the cloth until it came away. Throwing the unwanted item on the floor, Bakura began to fondle the exposed flesh earnestly; his cock grew rigid from the molestations on the smaller body. It was gratifying to feel the smooth skin under his fingers and the round curves it encountered tempted him.

Giving in, he kneaded the firm flesh.

Atem gasped aloud as his body jerked to Bakura's rough touch. As much as he mentally loathed the contact, he could not prevent his reaction. Bakura invested countless days and nights to find the erogenous parts of his body and years of being subject to that exploration had made his body eagerly receptive to the treatment.

Without thinking, he wound his arms around the other's neck and began grinding his awaking arousal against Bakura's. The action prompted a chortle from the thief king.

"See how responsive you are to me, Princess," Bakura purred, removing Atem's tunic and rubbing his hands over the bare chest whilst his mouth descended greedily on the silken skin. "It makes me want to devour you whole!"

Picking up the small male, Bakura headed for the bed. With his limbs wrapped around Bakura, Atem clung on tightly, only letting go when his back touched the hard surface it intended. Reclined passively on his back, he allowed Bakura to 'devour' him. The thief king left no part of his body untouched.

Kisses, caresses and bites were given in abundance and the preparation, though hastily performed, was thorough. Atem felt only a slight burn when Bakura entered him.

Throughout the evening the pair remained confined inside the room. Atem, having been absent for most of the day, was not permitted to leave until Bakura had enough of him.

It meant Atem was in for a very long and arduous night.

O-o-O-o-O

It was dark when they decided to stop. It provided a break long enough for Atem to give his report of the day's event and to get some food. The lackey who offended Atem earlier supplied them the meal.

The favoured youth could not help the curl of his lips when their eyes met. Although Atem loathed the negative attention he got for being Bakura's lover, it did have its benefits from time to time.

Envy swirled in the depths of the attendant's dark eyes as he approached the bed with the tray laden with tempting morsels; it darted from his master to the male he held in the circle of his arms.

"Place the tray here," Bakura gestured to the space next to him, "then leave."

Mumbling an acknowledgment, the attendant did as he was told and left without another word. Atem did not miss the look of hatred aimed his way before the door closed. He sighed his frustration and pulled away from Bakura's embrace. Leaning across the other's body, he picked up the tray and placed it across his lap. Not having the time to stop for a meal, Atem was famished.

Using a small dagger, the youth cut a generous slab of cheese and laid it atop of a large hunk of bread. Ignoring the slices of meat and fish on offer, he picked up the piece of bread and bit into it. Closing his eyes, he let out a hum of appreciation as he savoured the simple fare. Soon after that, ravenous need overcame finesse and Atem wolfed down his food without pause.

By the time, Atem's hunger was satiated; the loaf of bread was consumed, along with the cheese, olives and the slivers of roast mutton.

Contented at last, Atem stared drowsily into his beaker of wine. With his belly full of good food and wine, he was becoming heavy and lethargic. Sleep was luring him.

A chuckle forced him out of his food-induced stupor. Atem lifted up his head and sent Bakura a glare of disdain. The thief king did not appear put out by it.

"Had your fill, Princess?" Bakura drawled.

Atem snorted a reply.

"Good, then you can feed me with some figs and plums."

"Feed yourself," snapped Atem, his glare intensifying.

Bakura tut-tutted and wagged a finger. "It's not a request, Princess," he said with a playfully smirk, but the hint of firmness in the voice belied the good-humour. "If you don't feel inclined to feed me with your fair hands, then I could always make you to do it with your mouth. So, what will it be?"

Atem quickly gulped downed the rest of his wine and slammed the beaker on the tray, the force rattling its contents.

With eyes blazing with resentment, he selected a few pieces of figs and plums and put them aside on a silver plate. Then, removing the tray from his lap, he placed it on the floor and climbed onto Bakura laps . . . subsequently sitting on the semi-reclined man with the platter of fruit in his hand.

Resting the plate on Bakura's naked torso, Atem picked up a fig and tore it open. Pushing out the sweet flesh, he held it out to his lord.

Bakura sunk his teeth into the dark seedy fruit and ripped out a chunk of it, noting the sticky juice running down his chin as well as Atem's hand and arm. He devoured the rest with a few more mouthfuls.

After he was done with the fruit, Atem was about to retract his hand when Bakura grabbed it.

Atem let out a startled gasp when he felt strong fingers curl around his wrist. He instinctively recoiled to the sudden movement.

Removing the fig skin from the other's grasp with his free hand and flinging it onto the plate, Bakura proceeded to lick away the trails of sticky nectar from his captive's arm, hand and fingers.

Eyes wide, Atem watched Bakura lathed his tongue up the tanned limb, around the palm of his hand and between his fingers before capturing them in his mouth and sucking off each digit. Against his will, the sleeping appendage between his legs hardened to the sight and sensation, and he groaned out loud.

"Enjoying it, Princess?" Bakura's husky voice jolted Atem out of his trance. "Now let's see what _your_ tongue can do. I expect you to return the favour."

Allowing another groan to escape him, Atem cupped Bakura's face in his hands and leaned forward, his eyes sliding shut with the contact of skin on skin.

With his tongue he gave kittenish licks to Bakura's chin and neck, enjoying the sweet taste of figs against the other's salty skin. The liberal amount of wine he partook had made him giddy and light-headed. It also made him very bold and aroused.

Revelling in Atem's aroused state, Bakura made know his pleasure by grinding his crotch against Atem's. The meshing of two hard cocks together provoked cries of lust.

Sweeping the plate off his body and not caring where it landed, Bakura grabbed Atem by the head and pulled him up for a searing kiss. As they moved closer, the heat emanated from their bodies scorched the very air between them. Without need for words, they coordinated their movements and joined their bodies together. Bakura lifted Atem's body up whilst Atem impaled himself on the stiff cock beneath.

Still slick from their previous activity, Atem rode Bakura's cock effortlessly—relishing the sound of skin smacking skin and the sound of his wet passage as Bakura's cock entered and exited him. A smile spread across his flushed face as he watched Bakura's control slip.

Brushing his hands across his lover's shoulders and collarbones, Atem encircled his fingers around Bakura's neck, his thumb rubbing circles into the base and applying pressure on the air ways as he neared his climax, it wasn't enough to cut off the air supply . . . at least, not yet.

Pale eyes silently challenged him as he continued to dig into the throat. Bakura's fingers dug into Atem's hips, but the youth did not flinch from the pain nor did he remove his hands. He wasn't aware of anything except the power he had over Bakura and the nearing climax from the delicious pounding he was receiving.

Staring into Atem's eyes, Bakura met fiery crimson that burned with lust and power. The feral look Atem gave, made Bakura shiver with desire. Not only was the boy a step away from his release, but the tenuous control he had was fraying at the seams.

It wouldn't take much for Atem to crush his windpipe; the curious thing was . . . _would he do it?_

The thief sped up the pace to which he was thrusting into the boy, encouraging his lover to escape the restraints that usually bound him. He wanted Atem to forget the stoicism . . . the righteousness that dictated his present life.

To see Atem almost wild-like and suffused with murderous intent was beautifully alluring.

And Bakura was captivated.

However, unknown to the smaller male, the spectre of Diabound lurked hidden amongst the shadows, watchful of the threat made to his master. Although its presence was unwanted by the thief king, the impending danger posed on said person had unintentionally conjured up the beast. Bakura's survival instincts were sharp as a blade and effective as ever. Atem, on many occasions, had learnt that the hard way.

Panting profusely, Atem felt his body tense up considerably. Bakura's cock was stimulating him from the inside out and was coaxing a release from him.

Gritting his teeth, he unwittingly pressed down on his lover for better leverage as his body sought to counter the movements. Likewise, Bakura's hands tightened on his waist as he thrust upwards.

Excruciating pain shot forth from the bruising grip and lanced through his body, ripping out the release that accumulated within. Throwing his head back, Atem came with strangled cry.

Bakura closely followed with his climax, echoing Atem's cry as he came inside him. He was also the first to loosen his grip.

Sliding his hands away from Atem's waist whilst mindful of the bruising marks he had imprinted on it, he trailed his fingers along the willowy arms to the hands that were still attached to his throat. Gently, he pried the fingers away from its stubborn hold and brought it to his lips, kissing each slender digit indulgently as he watched his lover's fierce expression soften.

Chuckling to himself, he nibbled the culprits that provided him with so much thrill and excitement that his body still hummed from the pleasure it evoked . . .

_His fleeting dance with death was as enticing as ever._

~To Be Continued~

O-o-O-o-O

**Author's Note**: So, there you have it, folks. Here begins the second arc of the series. I hope the length of the chapter made up for the tardiness of it and I pray it was worth the long wait.

For me, the highlight of this chappy was seeing Atem kick-ass! He has grown and reluctantly adapted to the life as a thief and as Bakura's lover. Still, it isn't an easy life and every day will be a difficult slog and a challenge for him. However, Atem's no pushover and he will continue to fight. I hope you will continue to watch him mature and progress~.

Once again, I would l thank all those who have faved, read and followed this fic, I hope you will continue to support _Enslaved_ to the very end. As always, your thoughts are much appreciated and I would love to hear from you.

On the same note, I would like to give my heartfelt thanks to those who left me their thoughts on this fic. You have no idea how happy it makes me when I read your comments. Whether you've been following this since the beginning or just stumbled across it halfway through or recently, I can't thank you enough for all the kind words you've given me. Know that it's your generosity that keeps me inspired and motivated. Your love for this fic is what keeps it alive.

Thank you so much~.

* * *

><p><span><strong>And finally, here's the sneak-peek to the next chapter<strong>:

_"Speak, boy," Bakura commanded softly, his gaze dropping to the sleeping figure, his hand still caressing the spiky mane, a smile teased his lips._

_The figure slid closer to his lord and began whispering close to his ears. The smile vanished in an instant and was replaced by a long, thin line of displeasure. Eyes darkened and his mood along with it._

_By the time Naeem pulled away, Bakura's expression was murderous._

_"Is that so," he purred, the strain in the timbre betrayed the tension in that deceptively cool remark. "Then, I guess, someone needs to be taught a lesson."_

* * *

><p>Mhehheheheheh . . .<p> 


	12. Chapter 12

_As always, my apologies for the tardiness of the update, I know it been a while now. So, without further ado, I give you another chapter and hope it's worth the wait. Please enjoy~. _

_**Warnings**__: Smut/lemon and gory violence 'Kura-style. Yes, someone had it coming to him—so be warned—it won't be pretty! Oh, and the usual 'blah' applies, probably more so thanks to my sweet Mel._

_**Disclaimer**__**: **__I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh!_

O-o-O-o-O

Darkness bathed the room; spreading shadows and merging them to fill out the surrounding. It was deathly quiet except for the soft breathing of the sleeping male. With the tri-colour head resting on his master's midriff and an arm flung across the abdomen, the spent youth had passed out from overexertion. He simply could not keep up with Bakura's insatiable demands.

Bakura lying in a reclined position chuckled softly; pleased he had pleasured his wilful pet to the point of oblivion. He had trained that lithe body to respond to him and him alone. Memories of the responses he coaxed from that feisty boy made his cock stir once again and he sighed ruefully. Atem needed to rest. Had it been any other, he would have just fucked them regardless. How many times he had pleasured himself with an unconscious partner? To him it was all the same. If he needed a relief, he took what he needed. A response was irrelevant—except in Atem's case.

The sounds the boy emitted fuelled his appetite and the sensual reactions stoked his libido. The writhing and thrashing, so wantonly demonstrated in the throes of passion, complemented the moans, mewls and panting which spilled from those luscious lips. It encouraged Bakura to continue until the other was wailing for relief or begging a respite. Bakura smirked wider; such depraved sounds and lewd images had caused an imminent arousal.

Another chortle escaped his lips as his hand involuntarily strayed to the spiky head and stroked it gently. He was mindful not to wake the sleeper. There was something about the boy that drove him to act uncharacteristically; it was only him who was capable of provoking a feeling deep within his being—a feeling he never thought he was capable of possessing.

_Possessing. Possession_._ Treasure. His_ . . .

Three years he had spent living, breathing and _consuming_ the boy. His possession, captive and lover was unlike anyone he encountered. Atem had grown in the last three years; grown, adapted and matured beyond his expectations. It was fascinating.

Impassively, Bakura watched Atem struggle against his aversion, hatred and grief. He watched him transform. It was interesting to observe the gradual changes, how he would become bolder with his actions and words, his confidence building as Rishid taught him to fight. Occasionally, Bakura would mock fight him and let slip advice on how to improve his techniques. It was amusing to watch him scornfully dismiss the suggestion with a scathing retort, but Bakura knew better. The thief king knew Atem heeded the advice. Rishid would report on the boy's progress regularly, it pleased Bakura to learn the latter had applied the things he was taught.

To say Atem's metamorphosis was beautiful to behold was understatement. Through his loss, sorrow and pain, Atem transformed from being a scared, naïve child to a strong, defiant and recalcitrant young man. His beauty grew with his strength. The soft, supple roundness of boyhood fell away and was replaced by sinewy, lithe limbs and sleek muscles. The athleticism was pleasing to the eye; it added confidence and sinuous grace to his movements and it increased his endurance and stamina.

Bakura smiled. Despite the resilience and waywardness, Atem possessed a fragility that made people want to either protect or _break_ him.

Unscrupulous thoughts flittered across Bakura's mind. The times spent taming the boy was most enjoyable. The screams, the tears and the pleas . . . oh, how he begged so prettily. It was gratifying to see Atem so responsive beneath his fingertips—beneath his body—arching up to meet each thrust that would send him spiralling out of control. Bakura loved watching Atem lose control, he loved how needy his lover would become, he loved how lust would drive him to act daring and shamelessly. He loved the creature that would emerge from its stoic confinements.

It was fortunate Atem's body had adapted to the carnality it was put through. The more powerful Bakura grew, the more demanding his body became. His bloodlust or libido would have to be satiated to calm the restlessness within—to appease his beast's agitation. Atem was taught to satisfy that hunger, but there was so much his body could take. More often than not, like now, Bakura's vigour would leave the boy exhausted and unconscious.

The thought involuntarily forced a sigh to escape from Bakura and he trailed the crook of his finger down a smooth cheek, tracing the lean, angular jaw before trailing back it up the hair. The strands were damp and it got tangled between his fingers as he raked it back. It tugged on the Atem's scalp causing a small whine to spill from his lips. The thief king carefully untangled his fingers and gently rubbed the arm that was lying across his stomach, soothing the sleeper like a parent soothing a child.

When the stillness settled around them once more, Bakura continued with his musing. Long fingers slid between the smaller ones, locking their hands together. Bakura thumbed the other's wrist, stroking the scarred line that ran along the width of it. The scar was a costly reminder of the Atem's folly, one that deeply affected Atem even three years after the incident. He still had nightmares of the destruction Bakura caused because of him.

Bakura expression darkened as he recalled the reason Atem tried to take his own life. To this day, he could still see the shadows lurking behind those mesmerising eyes; he could still see how wistful and distant Atem would look when he thinks he's alone, his fingers rubbing his wrist. The scar wasn't just to remind the wearer of his obligation . . . _his promise_ . . . it reflected the larger one embedded in Atem's heart. And it infuriated Bakura!

There were days when Atem would withdraw into himself and become aloof; and there were days where he would become unbearably irritable and cantankerous. On those days, Bakura would watch Atem from afar; watch him mourn that cur with bitter resentment. It made him aware of the power the dead had over his lover—except the dead _wasn't_ dead!

A little over a year ago a new hunter joined Shimon, Karim, Shadi and Isis . . . a fresh-faced, inexperience youth who _supposedly_ had potential. Bakura would have laughed and dismissed the nobody if it weren't for one damning thing . . . That certain _nobody's_ connection to Atem.

_Mahado_!

Bakura's lips instantly pressed into a sneer at the threat this _nobody_ imposed, his hand instinctively squeezing Atem's as if the very thought of the man would make the boy disappear from his grasp.

So far, it had been easy to keep Atem in the dark. The name of the new hunter was a mystery to most and he was fortunate Atem did not mingle and gossip with the thieves. Atem's indifference and the fact that he cared very little to the goings-on in the camp enabled the boy to remain ignorant. Moreover, the small insignificant raids he was sent on ensured he would not run into the hunters. Any confrontations between the two groups involved Bakura's party and even _that_ was few and far between.

The skirmishes, though exhilarating for the thief king, were disappointedly unrivalled. Diabound outmatched the hunters' ka. The only challenge was Shimon's Exodia, but its wielder was weak and frail thus unable to maintain a fight for too long. Effectively, it was all but a defensive measure. It could force the thieves to retreat, to prevent them from taking what they came for, but such occurrences were uncommon. Rarely did they fail to obtain what they set out to achieve.

Bakura's men, under Malik's direction, were organised and dependable—their fear and faith for their leader was absolute. No one dare betray the collective; they all knew traitors never lived long to spill secrets. Fallen comrades were either rescued or killed. No thief was ever left behind _alive_.

Even with their newest addition, the hunters could not defeat Bakura. The thief king wasn't sure if he should be irritated or amused at the pest's attempts to beat him. True, the cur had gotten stronger and he was able to summon and instruct his ka without the use of his voice, and though knowledgeable in spells, he lacked experience and would have been killed many times over had he not been able to defend well.

Bakura snorted contemptuously. Killing the bastard and ridding himself of the threat had become very appealing though he did wonder why in all their encounters the pest had not once mentioned Atem. Bakura surmised the fool didn't remember, that the concoction he was fed did more damage than it intended. The thief scoffed and mentally shrugged it off. Whatever the reason, it suited him very well.

Malik and Rishid had been warned not to say a thing. Emphasis was put on Malik who Bakura personally threatened to brand his tongue with a hot iron rod, and then leave him bound and buried neck down in the middle of the desert to die slowly. No one was going to take Atem away from him. Those who try will inevitably die.

_Which reminds him_ . . .

"Boy," he called out authoritatively.

Silent footsteps entered the room, gliding seamlessly over the floor's surface—audible only to the thief's heightened senses. Decades of thievery had enhanced his hearing and his alertness so he missed nothing. After all, it could be the matter of life and death for him.

Naeem stood before him. The boy, sixteen years of age, was of short stature and lanky build. It made him seemingly younger than he really was and it enabled him to sneak around unnoticed. He was one of many scouts who worked for the thieves, and his job was to loiter around towns and villages to obtain news and information of possible raids or arrests. The inconspicuous boy did his job very well, he was the eyes and ears of the King of Thieves and thus feared and disliked amongst his peers.

Bakura stared at the tanned figure in front of him. Freckles, from being constantly exposed in the sun, sprinkled liberally on the small face. Large wide eyes belied its deadly utilisation, no one in the camp underestimated Naeem's innocent look; they wouldn't dare.

"Speak, boy," Bakura commanded softly, his gaze dropping to the sleeping figure, his hand still caressing the spiky mane. A smile teased his lips.

The figure slid closer to his lord and began whispering close to his ears. The smile vanished in an instant and was replaced by a long, thin line of displeasure. Eyes darkened and his mood along with it.

By the time Naeem pulled away, Bakura's expression was murderous.

"Is that so," he purred, the strain in the timbre betrayed the tension in that deceptively cool remark. "I guess someone needs to be taught a lesson."

In return, Naeem watched with sadistic fascination as his lord's eyes strayed to the whip hanging idly on the wall, the stormy lilac gaze lingering on the weapon lovingly.

The boy shivered with eager anticipation and grinned maliciously.

O-o-O-o-O

The sound of laughter could be heard as men, drunk from consuming the free flow of pilfered beer, began to slide into a merry stupor. What began as a gathering of discontentment instigated by Malik, the collective slowly drank their irritation away. Needless to say, the sight of Malik dragging Rishid away to the cheers of the crowd helped dissipate the tension and in no time, to the joviality of the remaining men, the drinking resumed—their grievances forgotten.

The sound of footsteps crunching on the dirt ground caused all heads to turn towards it. Gasps were voiced at the surprise appearance of their revered leader.

Bakura approached them with a predatory grin on his face, his eyes trained on one person.

_Kemnebi!_

As if sensing the thief king's displeasure, Kemnebi gulped and looked hastily away. He dared not prolong eye contact with his seething lord. He tried to take a swig of beer from the beaker, but his hands shook so badly he was spilling the contents.

Stopping short of the frightened man, Bakura stared coldly at him, the smirk still evident on his face.

Kemnebi began to sweat profusely. The weight of that glare seemed to crush him from inside out, stifling him. He was finding it hard to breath.

Leaning forward, Bakura placed the handle of his coiled whip under the other's chin and lifted his head. A pregnant pause followed. "I see Atem has managed to do considerable amount of damage to your face," he snickered after inspecting the injuries, the fury in his eyes contradicted his amusement.

Kemnebi trembled with trepidation as he stared back in fear, his mouth too dry to utter a word.

"However, I am most displeased that you saw fit to defile him with your touch, knowing it would invoke my displeasure," the grin grew wider as Bakura withdrew the whip and straightened up. "You've grown some balls, Kemnebi, how brave and yet foolish. Now let's see if you are manly enough to deal with me!" The thief king backed away a few steps.

'Why do you choose him above us, my lord?" the man finally replied, rising as he spoke. "We, who follow you without hesitation, whose lives we gave willingly for so long. Why are you favouring him to the extent you no longer care for our needs? Are we lesser in your eyes compared to that boy despite we have been loyal to you for longer?"

"If you are loyal to me then you should know not to mistreat my possessions," the thief king countered, his eyes narrowing. "You should have taken up your grievances with me, Kemnebi! What kind of master am I, if I allow others to manhandle the person I have claimed for my own? Does the marking not clearly signify that? I cannot forgive what you tried to do today; it was a direct insult to my pride."

Resentment began to rise in the scolded man; the reproach and the alcohol added to his simmering frustration causing it to spill out openly. "What about _our_ _pride, _my lord? Are we not feared throughout the land? Are we not renowned for our cruel viciousness, our murderous violence?" Kemnebi spat. "How does it make _us_ _feel_ to be reduced to petty thieves?"

A few grunts of agreement were heard from the surrounding crowd.

Bakura stared grimly at the man before him and then at the others. Silence ensued again.

"Do you not get your sadistic fulfilments when you go on raids with Malik? Are you restricted in your actions, restrained in any way? Once in a while, I indulge the boy and you all kick up a fuss like some fucking spoilt brats! It appears I have been too lenient if you think I will sit back and accept the shit you've displayed earlier. Come," Bakura gestured to the men around him in an encouraging way, egging them to come forward. There was nothing more satisfying than an all-out brawl and he was itching to crush a few bones. "I will show you that my bark is as effective as my bite. I will take on anyone who is dissatisfied!"

"And what does the victor get in return?" Kemnebi asked impertinently, his confidence growing as his comrades began getting up and joining him.

Bakura laughed at the other's arrogance. "Are we ahead of ourselves or what?" He laughed again; the maniac sound and the cold glint in his eyes made his opposition shudder involuntarily. "Defeat me first, imbeciles, and I will consider."

"We want the little slut!" Kemnebi declared.

A heavy aura suddenly materialised and enveloped the men with its oppressive density. A deathly hush descended the group as all eyes watched their leader with increasing horror.

Bakura stood unmoving, he was no longer smiling—his amusement was no more. Eyes, filled with murderous intent glared coldly at the man and shadows shifted slightly around him, distorting the imagery with invisible ripples. The now sobered men baulked at the effects and wisely took a few steps back . . . away from the culprit who had invoked their leader's wrath. They could have taken up on their lord's offer on the fist-fight, but now—_now_ was a different game altogether and judging by the terror displayed on Kemnebi's face, he knew it too. The idiot had dug his own grave; they weren't stupid enough to follow him into it.

A strangled cry was heard as the large man was suddenly lifted high up in the air, his eyes bulging, his mouth gasping for breath and his hand frantically clawing around his neck. Though unseen, everyone knew what was happening.

"You dare take advantage of my generosity and make foolish demands, you arrogant fucker!" Bakura snarled. "You are several millennia to early to insist anything from me, least of all, _him_!"

Without warning the victim was hurled at the group of spectators. Many of them managed to escape the impact whilst other's, too slow from intoxication, broke Kemnebi's fall. Groans were heard from the heap of bodies lying on the ground. However, it wasn't over. Kemnebi was, once again, selected and hauled from the entangled pile on his front. It was apparent he was held captive by his leg as his body was dragged around the surrounding area; his piercing screams for assistance and mercy fell on deaf ears.

As clothes began to fray from the rough friction encountered from the hard, stony ground, his skin began to suffer the same treatment too. His screams doubled in volume and in frequency. A path of blood began to trail the body and the man finally lost consciousness.

The dragging stopped and Diabound emerged from the darkness, its serpent tail coiled tightly around the leg of the injured man.

"_Wake him_!" Bakura ordered and a few men hurriedly ran for water. Returning with a small basin, they emptied the contents on Kemnebi and the latter woke spluttering and coughing. Bakura's feet met his line of vision when he pried open his eyes.

Crouching down on his haunches, Bakura looked down at the pitiful man, his smirk returning. "_That_ was for your insolence," he cackled and rose. Kemnebi lost sight of his lord, but he could hear him close behind him. As he lay unmoving on the ground, his chest ached with every shuddering breath he took and gravels embedded inside his chest cut deep into the wounds. He prayed through the pain that his master was finished with his punishment.

He was sorely mistaken.

A _crack_ was heard and a sharp pain was felt on his back. Kemnebi cried out as leather repeatedly ripped through his skin. The stench of blood was heavy in the air as the thieves watched in silence. Their face wincing at each stroke delivered on the battered body. They dare not move a muscle, as Bakura's beast was still present, holding Kemnebi captive. They didn't want to draw Diabound's attention to themselves.

Tears and mucus was flowing freely from the tortured man, his pleas for his lord to stop went unheeded. It was the commotion that compelled an appearance from Malik and Rishid.

"What the fuck is going on?" the irate man demanded as he pushed his way through the crowd, gaping at the sight that met his eyes when he got through. Staring at the bloody figure on the floor, his eyes directed its gaze at the enthusiastic man wielding the whip.

"Lord Bakura!" he exclaimed. "You must stop now!"

Bakura turned his glare towards his second-in-command and scowled angrily. After one final stroke, he wound his bloody whip up and tucked it in his shenti. Then, lifting his shenti and taking his cock out of his loincloth, he urinated on the flayed back, laughing as he did so.

Screams tore through the man's throat as the acidity burned the shredded flesh and seeped into the exposed wounds. Clawed fingers dug deep into the ground.

Bakura rearranged his clothing when he was done. With a snicker, the thief king once again squatted beside his victim. He entwined his fingers into the dark, soaking wet hair and pulled the head back.

"And _that_ was for the insult at Atem," he supplied coolly.

Kemnebi's neck and back was forced backwards, adding a grunt of discomfort to the gasps of pain emitting from the bleeding lips. His eyes slid to the smirking face of his master and rested there, the presence of the thief king required nothing less than utmost attention when he addressed his men _personally_. Through the agony, Kemnebi dared not protest. His beaten body, trembling from fear and pain, held still.

The observers found it hard to breathe, let alone speak. The gravity of the situation crushing their will to oppose. The silence was fraught with apprehension and suspense.

Above the stench of alcohol, urine and blood, Bakura could smell their fear and his smirk widened. Dragging his victim's head towards himself, he said in a voice that was loud enough for all to hear, "Let this be a warning for those who think they can take liberties with what is mine. Purge those thoughts now or next time I will not be so lenient."

Kemnebi's head dropped onto the ground when Bakura released him. Bloodshot eyes watched his master get up and walk away, passing Malik through the throng of people.

"You turned on one of your loyal men for the sake of that _whore_?" Malik asked incredulously.

The leader stopped and turned to face the speaker, his eyes raking in the dishevelled form before him. "You should speak for yourself, my dear," he retorted before turning and continuing his way, a hoarse laugh trailing after him.

Everyone watched with appalled fascination as Diabound, tailing his master, faded into obscurity. Silence continued long after their leader's departure. Aghast at the severity of the punishment and the gruesomeness of what they witnessed, they dared not utter a word of reproach. Their wariness was wise, their silent was prudent for melded within the darkness and watching the scene unfold was a small boy.

A smile of satisfaction spread across the freckled face and it enhanced the cruel gleam in those large wide eyes.

Naeem's grin was feral.

O-o-O-o-O

Arriving back at his sleeping quarters, Bakura slipped soundlessly into the room and paused to seek out his sleeping lover on bed . . . he was shoved into the wall with a dagger at his throat by a naked Atem. Angry crimsons glowered at him.

Tearing his eyes away from his irate lover, he peered down at the weapon pressed into his skin. It was the same dagger Atem used for his meal.

"Your enthusiasm and your method of seduction is most pleasing, Princess," Bakura purred with delight, his eyes bright with anticipation. "I wouldn't mind if you greeted me like this more often."

"I told you not to interfere!" spat Atem, the blade digging further into the flesh and breaking skin. A thin line of blood appeared on the tanned throat, but Atem stubbornly held the dagger there, refusing to pull away. "I _told_ you I could take care of myself—that you would make matters worse for me if you intervened. _Why_? Why could you not let things be?"

"And why should I allow everyone to touch you? What kind of man would I be if I cannot protect what's mine!" fumed Bakura.

"I don't need your protection nor do I want it!" Atem snapped. "All you've succeeded in doing is antagonise me further from the rest and re-establish my position as your whore! Can't you see you've undone everything I've worked so hard for?"

"You are my lover and I refuse to allow anyone demand sexual favours from you!"

"And _I_ refuse to satisfy your ego by cowering behind you!"

"Enough!" Bakura growled, a hand reaching up and grabbing Atem's wrist and wrenching it away from his neck. The youth dropped the weapon with a hiss when Bakura twisted his arm behind his back and spun him around, roughly slamming him face first into the wall. Resting a large proportion of his weight on the smaller body, Bakura had Atem pinned there.

"Kemnebi needed to be taught a lesson," the thief king elaborated. "I could have disregarded his taunting. I could have turned a blind eye to his provocations, but I will not tolerate the sexual advances. He needed to be reminded the consequences of inappropriately touching what belongs to me! I deem my intervention and his subsequent punishment as fitting to his transgression, so do not say otherwise!"

Pinpricks of fury burned in Bakura's eyes as he leaned forward to the other's ear, his voice dropped to a low and intimidating tone. "Like it or not, Atem, I do not suffer fools gladly . . . _especially_ those who cannot keep their hands to themselves or their cocks in their loincloths long enough to consider who they should or shouldn't be fucking around with!"

Atem fought to push his body off the wall, but Bakura, being heavier and stronger, held him firm. So he tried to squirm free. When that failed, he resorted to kicking the man, only to have his legs kicked further apart and a knee jammed in his crotch.

The sound of cloth sliding off skin alerted Atem of what's to come and he began to struggle more. It got him nowhere. The more he thrashed, the more Bakura pressed his bare flesh against Atem's and grind his knee against the exposed groin.

"Get off me!" the youth demanded. "Let me go!"

Placing his free hand on the other's temple, Bakura pushed the head back so the slender throat arched back in a graceful curve. "No," he chuckled and sank his teeth into the soft column of flesh.

Atem gasped and immediately stilled his movements. Bakura, sensing compliance, dropped his hand from Atem's head and took hold of a nipple. Rubbing it between finger and thumb until it hardened under his touch.

"Bakura . . . " Atem panted. "No . . . don't . . ."

Another chuckle was his answer as Bakura released Atem and pulled his lower body a few steps back while pushing the upper body forward so he was supporting himself with wide arms and splayed hands against the rough surface of the wall.

"I will fuck you again and again until my scent is sealed within you . . . until everyone can smell _me_ on _you_!" Bakura whispered with husky determination.

Atem snorted rudely. "A whole lot of good that'll do me!" he sniped crossly. "It won't stop the jeers and the snide remarks nor will it stop them harassing me."

"We'll see about that."

Atem closed his eyes when he felt his legs being nudged further apart. He gnawed on his lips when he felt Bakura's hand grab the cheeks of his backside and part them. He held his breath when he felt the head of Bakura's erection rub against his entrance and he cried out when the rigid length entered him, sliding into his wet passage at a steady rate and not stopping until Bakura was buried deep within him. Feeling the familiar presence warm his back, he began to breathe again.

A grunt escaped Atem around the same time as shaky groan was dragged from Bakura. Both stood motionless as one tried to adjust to the intrusion, whilst the other basked in the tight heat that swathed his cock. It was only a brief respite and one that lasted a few heartbeats before Bakura pulled out and, with a snap of his hips, drove back in again.

The action was repeated again and again. Each time Bakura slammed harder into Atem's body causing the smaller frame to shake with the force. One large hand firmly gripped Atem's shoulder to prevent him from colliding into the wall while the other strove to induce a climax. As the moist, fleshy walls tightened and squeezed his cock, Bakura knew the end was near. He bit into the soft curve of the shoulder and sucked on it. His moans muffled by the mouthful of flesh.

Atem's body quaked and his arms and legs trembled as Bakura bit, fucked and stroked him. The tension in his lower body was taut as a plucked bowstring; his seed ready to shot out of his body like an arrow poised to leave the bow. All it took was one more stroke . . . one more thrust . . . and . . .

Atem came with a guttural cry, his release splashing the walls and dribbling on the fist that clasped his cock. Thrusting erratically, his breath and body shook as waves upon waves of his climax battered his form and senses. He was oblivious to everything except for the currents of pleasure that ripped through him. Even when Bakura's ferocity increased, he remained oblivious. The larger body behind continued to ram and ravage his.

"_Atem_!" Tearing his mouth away from the shoulder, the word that spilled from his lips was the name of his impertinent lover.

Finally Bakura came, his cock convulsing as it emptied into the filled passage. It felt an age before it finally stilled. By then, Atem was sagging against the wall in a boneless sprawl.

Letting out a shuddering breath, Bakura slowly pulled out of Atem, catching the limp body when it tumbled forward.

Barely managing to keep the exhaustion at bay, Atem conceded a pained whimper when Bakura picked him up. His body ached inside and outside, and his shoulder throbbed mercilessly. Without looking he knew it was bleeding, it was clear Bakura got even with him. Atem was, after all, the one to draw blood first.

Glancing up, he could see line of scarlet mar the throat. Malik will give him shit tomorrow when he sees it. It was bad enough that Malik couldn't spend the night with Bakura. Any evidence of their heated tryst will not sit well with the jealous man. Atem will not be able to escape Malik's scorn and sour disposition—that much he was certain.

Sighing deeply, Atem let the unwelcoming thoughts roll away as Bakura laid him down on the bed and settled behind him. Strong arms extended across and under him, wrapping possessively around his tired body and drawing him closer to his master. Atem hummed his contentment as his eyes slid shut and his mind slowly drift off.

Chortling lightly, Bakura placed a chaste kiss on the injured shoulder before tucking the sleepy head under his chin. Satiated for the time being, he closed his eyes and listened to Atem's soft, rhythmic breathing whilst waiting for sleep to claim him.

Outside the room, a disgruntled figure slowly and quietly backed away from the door, melting silently into the shadows and leaving very little to indicate to another's presence.

No sound.

No proof.

Nothing solid except an aura that saturated the air, leaving a lingering, chilling residue behind . . .

If envy were a tangible feeling, it would crush everything and everyone around it.

~TBC~

O-o-O-o-O

**Author's note**: So there we have it, a crazed Thief-Bakura whose cruelty I found fascinating when I came across it in the manga. After being exposed to the tame version of the thief, it was strange and intriguing to see him kill in a blink on an eye and to do so without remorse. It was particularly interesting to illustrate that barbaric side of him in this chapter and I hope I haven't upset anyone with the gory details.

With that said, it wouldn't do him justice if he hadn't acted the way he did. After all, I like to think Atem triggered a possessive part of him that everyone *coughKemnebicough* should be aware of and if the great big tattoo of Diabound did nothing to remind them, then a few broken bones and cuts should do the trick. I can't imagine he'd let such a grave crime go unpunished and besides, he probably was craving for a little hands-on action.

All-in-all, I hope I haven't offended anyone with this chapter. Personally, I feel if you can't stomach Thief-Bakura's antics then you shouldn't be following him. Thief-Bakura is not about fluff. Beneath that snide, devious, laid-back and witty exterior, lies a sadistic and dangerous man.

My heartfelt thanks to everyone who have been following this story; particularly to those who reviewed. It's always a pleasure to hear from my regular readers as well as new ones. I've read and reread your thoughts for inspiration, so keep them coming. I can't thank all of you enough for the love you've shown this fic and I can only hope you'll continue supporting it. Thank You~.

O-o-O-o-O

**And finally, the preview to the next chapter**:

Malik snarled and flailed his arms in exasperation. "Before he showed up, everything was perfect!" He stopped, swallowed his ire and sighed tiredly. Taking a step forward, he pressed himself against Bakura's back and rested his cheek between the other's shoulder blades. Slender arms stole around the latter's waist and clung to it desperately. "Can't we revert back to how it was before? Can't you let him . . . _go?"_

"You know that is impossible, Malik," Bakura uttered softly, his voice heavy with resignation.

_Even if I _could_ let him go, I would have to kill him. The dead are not able to reveal Kul Elna's location_.

A chill that ran down Bakura's spine and he suppressed the urge to shiver.

The distasteful words hung silently in the air, the statement left unspoken. It left a rancorous taste in their mouths and bitterness on their tongue. Both knew it was Kul Elna's custom. Not even Bakura, for all his power, could make an exception. Not without serious repercussions to his authority.

With that in their minds, Bakura knew he could never let Atem go and Malik knew he'd be stuck with the eyesore. The latter curled his lips with disdain.

O-o-O-o-O


	13. Chapter 13

_Finally, I present the latest chapter to you all. My humble apologies for the delay, I hope the length will make up for the tardiness. Please enjoy._

O-o-O-o-O

_**Warnings**__: Nothing other than the usual 'blah'. All errors will be amended eventually. I'd rather post this in its crude form than to withhold it for heaven knows how long in hope I'll find time to proofread it a gazillion times. Please bear with me for the time being._

_**Disclaimer**__**: **__I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh!_

O-o-O-o-O

Atem woke up late the next day alone in the bed. Turning slowly onto his side, he brushed his hand over the empty space. The coolness of the sheets informed him that Bakura had left some time ago.

Rolling onto his back once more, he closed his eyes and thought about the trials he was going to face that day. Although Bakura had not disclosed the details of Kemnebi's punishment, Atem did not doubt cruelty of the highest degree was inflicted. The thief king was not known for his forgiving nature. It was best to avoid loitering around the village since he wasn't very popular about now—not that he was in the first place except when it came to being harassed or bullied. It was wise to exercise caution and avoid tempting others with his presence. It also lessened his chance of running into Malik as well.

Inevitably, seeking Rishid out for company would be out of the question, he was sure the taciturn man had his hands full with Bakura's latest victim. He didn't need to see Kemnebi and Kemnebi didn't need to see him either.

He grunted as he stretched out his body, his arms extended high above his head and his toes pointing forward. The effects it had on his lower body made him wince and he shuddered delicately. The thief king was not known for holding back when it came to coupling either. The man was rough in everything he did.

Curling onto his side with one arm tucked under his head, Atem idly pondered on what he could do to pass time. The thought of staying in his or Bakura's sleeping quarters did not appeal to him. In fact, he had better leave before Bakura reappears. If the thief king catches him _naked_, there'll be no escape for him.

Sliding carefully off the bed, Atem crossed the room in his bare feet and began his cleaning ritual. Surprisingly, he was relatively clean; his body was free from sweat and his own release, and only a small amount of Bakura's seed dribbled out of his rear. It appears Bakura had cleaned him up when he was asleep. Still, he needed to wipe himself down and proceeded to do so in a deft and efficient manner, flinching slightly when the cloth ran over his injured shoulder.

A small clay jar on the table caught his attention. Throwing the damp cloth into the basin once more, he gingerly picked up the jar and opened it. Peeking at the contents, his suspicion was confirmed with a short sniff. Atem had been around Rishid to recognise the man's healing salve. Bakura had left it for him to apply on his wound. Twisting his head to the left and peering down on his shoulder, he spotted a large bruise with tiny indents around it. The skin was broken, but it was no longer bleeding. Atem wondered if Bakura had applied it after cleaning him. It would have explained why the wound was no longer bleeding or encrusted with dry blood.

Dipping a finger into the jar, he scooped out a small amount and gently applied it. He inhaled deep and hissed when the salve touched the open wound. Its healing properties taking effect, cooling and numbing the affected area on contact. When it was done, he returned the lid and placed it back on the table. He rinsed his hand in the water and went in search for his clothes.

He found them draped across a stool. Selecting the loincloth, Atem fastened it around his waist. Then picking up tunic, he flapped it out once to get rid of the crinkles and slid it over his body. Finally donning his sandals, Atem picked up the basin and took it outside to empty. When it was done, he returned it to the room and left.

At first, Atem ambled at a leisurely pace through the camp. With no particular destination in mind, he casually wondered if he should stop by the main kitchen to break his fast. His stomach grumbled it's approval and with a smirk, Atem set off in that direction.

The activity in the camp was slow, which meant there wasn't a raid to prepare for. Usually the place would be bustling with commotion. Cursing and instructions would be heard above the noise of horses and equipment being fitted. Today, however, the thieves were under the shade, huddled in a group, and murmuring in low voices. Atem suspected the behaviour was either due to the hangover they were suffering from or they were talking about him. Wary eyes that followed his movements indicated it was the latter. He could feel the hostility, resentment and fear through their hushed tones and cagey manner. He would have been mocked and confronted several times over had it been a _normal_ day. However, it wasn't a normal day. One of their own was threatened and beaten by their master. Bakura's treatment of Kemnebi must have been severe and heavy handed for the thieves to be cowed to this extent.

Somehow it made Atem uncomfortable. Compared to the usual boisterous and offensive taunting, this subdued ambience felt more intimidating. Without means to vent their anger and hatred of him, the negativity would grow and fester inside of them until it reached boiling point. When it does, Atem will be begging for Bakura's intervention. He had seen what these crazed madmen were capable of when deprived. The distinction between fighting and rutting often blurred where these men were concerned. Violent in both acts, Atem did not wish to be on the receiving end of either. He'd be willing to face Malik's ire if it could diffuse the situation. He would gladly swallow his pride and allow the humiliation if it could diffuse some of the anger. It was the reason he didn't want Bakura interfering.

Lowering his head, he began to walk briskly away. The chill emitted from the thieves' antagonism made him shiver despite the sweltering heat of the midday sun. The sudden desire to be alone made him think of his secluded oasis. Atem sped up his pace.

Ignoring the people around the kitchen, Atem grabbed a clean piece of cloth from a basket and laid it flat on the table. Circling around the room, he compiled a selection of fruit; bread filled with meat, a handful of dates and a few honey cakes, and carefully placed them in the cloth. Satisfied with the variety he selected, Atem folded the two opposing corners of the cloth over each other and tied the remaining two together. Leaving the food bundle on the table for the time being, he went in search for a terracotta narrow necked jug and filled it with water. Once that was accomplished, he gathered his meal and left.

Once again, multiple pairs of eyes followed his every move, but two pairs watched him with grave intensity. Had Atem not been so eager to get away from the disconcerting looks, he would have felt the eyes boring into him.

O-o-O-o-O

Bakura watched the figure become smaller as the distance between them widened. Malik watched his lord observe the slut with annoyance etched on his face.

The pair was standing on top of a small hill that overlooked the village. A perch was erected to serve as a lookout post and youths, too young to fight, were employed to act as sentries. Equipped with a horn derived from a ram, they would alert the camp if anything suspicious appeared within its vicinity. Should the sound fail to raise the alarm, the boys would run down to the foot the hill and ring the bronze bell situated there. Currently, but for the two men, the post was empty. Wanting to be alone with Bakura, Malik sent the young sentry away for his midday meal. The boy was to await a signal before he was allow to return.

Malik began the conversation with the question that was burning a hole through his curiosity. He didn't doubt it had something to do with the little stuck-up shit, but the men last night were too frightened to indulge him the information.

"Care to explain why you saw fit to incapacitate Kemnebi last night?" he asked cautiously.

"No."

"Bakura—"

"Malik, what I chose to do with my men is my business!" interjected Bakura as irritation began to gnaw on his nerves. It wasn't a subject he wished to discuss _again_.

"The problem was between Kemnebi and that upstart," pressed Malik haughtily. "You should not have interfered."

The thief king snorted and looked affronted. "Amusingly enough, Atem said exactly the same thing."

"Then why did you? Your treatment of Kemnebi was callous and grossly exaggerated. It did not abide well with the others."

Bakura scoffed, his eyes squinting to catch Atem's shrinking form. "Kemnebi had it coming to him, he should know better than to allow greed surpass common sense."

"Loyalty is a tenuous thing, Bakura. It takes years to build and yet, it can be undone at a snap of a finger. Don't let one person to undo everything you achieved. He isn't worth it."

Broad shoulders tensed at the remark. "You are right," he gritted. "Loyalty is a fragile sentiment, which is why there is no place here for the foolish or the fickle. I do not need men who are not completely loyal to serve me."

A brusque snort was the immediate reply. "That is rich coming from a man who has the loyalty of every man in Kul Elna except one. With that one person, you don't have his loyalty, you don't have his trust, and you don't have his devotion let alone his love! How can you begin to compare a staunch follower like Kemnebi to someone like that slut!"

"That _slut_ has a name."

"That slut is causing a rift between you and your men!"

"And you're not?" Bakura ground out angrily, spinning around to ensure Malik felt the full weight of his glare. "You think I don't know what you are doing behind his back! Don't think I am unaware of the discontent you are feeding _my_ men, turning them against Atem and using them to bully him. You are indirectly, if not directly, responsible for most of the fights he lands himself in. It makes you the instigator, if not the culprit, to my current predicament! It's something I am not terribly happy about at the moment." He turned his back to his companion; pale eyes scanning the distance once more.

Malik snarled and flailed his arms in exasperation. "Before he showed up, everything was perfect!" He stopped, swallowed his ire and sighed tiredly. Taking a step forward, he pressed himself against Bakura's back and rested his cheek between the other's shoulder blades. Slender arms stole around the latter's waist and clung to it desperately. "Can't we revert back to how it was before? Can't you let him . . . _go?"_

"You know that is impossible, Malik," Bakura uttered softly, his voice heavy with resignation.

_Even if I _could_ let him go, I would have to kill him. The dead are not able to reveal Kul Elna's location_.

A chill that ran down Bakura's spine and he suppressed the urge to shiver.

The distasteful words hung ominously in the air, the statement left unspoken. It left a rancorous taste in their mouths and bitterness on their tongue. Both knew it was Kul Elna's custom. Not even Bakura, for all his power, could make an exception. Not without serious repercussion to his authority.

With that in their minds, Bakura knew he could never let Atem go and Malik knew he'd be stuck with the eyesore. The latter curled his lips with disdain.

Pulling away from Malik's embrace, Bakura turned around to face him. "What is the latest development with the Nubia convoy?" Bakura vied for a change of subject. Nubia was situated on the South of Egypt, the region known for it's gold mining.

"The scouts watching the convoy have reported that they are making good progress through the Western Desert. They have roughly eight iteru* left before reaching the Capital and it's heavily protected."

Bakura nodded. "I assume the pharaoh has set reinforcements?"

"Of course, they've sent their trusted hunters to escort it."

"How many?"

"Two so far. Karim and Shadi have been sighted with the convoy, and our palace spies have informed us that Shimon, the woman and that brat will be joining them shortly. The woman is still attending the queen so she's occupied at the moment and the brat was on another assignment and will be returning soon. Preparations are being made for the rendezvous as we speak."

Bakura nodded again. It would be beneficial to attack whilst there was minimum number of hunters in the group. The fact they'd be travel weary will work in their favour. However, to do that would require swift arrangements. Adequate supplies are needed and a plan formulated. According to the security employed around the convoy, the hunters were clearly expecting the thieves. Bakura wouldn't to disappoint them now, would he?

"Assemble thirty men and inform them to begin preparing for the journey. We will be setting out before dusk since we plan to catch them when they least expect it . . . in their slumber."

Sending a final glance in the direction Atem had disappeared to, Bakura turned and motioned Malik to follow him. Following the thief king, Malik also gave a backward glance, his eyes glaring daggers and his mind filled with malicious thoughts.

_Dead people cannot talk nor can they monopolise others_.

O-o-O-o-O

Sunshine filled the vast courtyard, painting it with the Sun God's blessed rays. It lit and reflected off the marble tiles and columned walls, which were painted in the brightest and gayest of colours, and it glinted off the tiny gemstones that adorned the heavy gold ring.

A single pair of soft footfalls echoed around the enclosure, it tapped lightly against the hard, cool surface in a casual pace before swerving gracefully around a corner to reach its destination.

Adjacent to the pharaoh's palace was a large building, one that housed the hunters. The size compared to the palace was meagre and far less grandiose, but it served its purpose as the headquarters and residence of the pharaoh's elite force.

After entwining through a maze of corridors, the owner of the footsteps stopped outside a large, airy chamber. The piquant smell of herbs and plants invading the person's senses as he stood on the threshold looking in. The rustling of fabric and the sound of ceramics clinking could be heard from within. The observer smiled and entered calling softly to the oblivious occupant.

"Isis."

Isis tensed fleetingly at the voice then immediately spun around. A smile at the ready and her eyes sparkling with delight as she recognised the voice.

"Mahado," she returned joyfully, dropping the plant she was holding and wiping her hands on a piece of rag. Fidgeting with her appearance, she patted down her kalasiris* and held out her hands, beckoning the young man forward.

Mahado complied and gripped Isis' hands, his eyes alight with pleasure.

"Have you reported to Lord Shimon yet?" Isis asked, studying Mahado closely.

Mahado looked sheepish as he shook his head and it made Isis laugh.

"You know you need to inform Lord Shimon of your return," she chided playfully. "He gets awfully peevish when he ends up hearing of your arrival from another source."

Mahado shoulders sagged a little under the reproach, but it soon perked up again. "Actually, I had to see you first because I found this on my travels," Mahado pulled out a wad of linen from the small pouch he carried around his waist and carefully unwrapped it to reveal a plant adorned with small round leaves.

Taking it from her companion, Isis looked at the plant and then at Mahado. "Fenugreek?" she said, it was more like a statement than a question.

Mahado nodded. "You were complaining about the ones you were growing wasn't very potent, so when I came across this in the wild, I thought you might want it." A long finger pointed the spidery roots, "See, I even made sure to dig out the plant so the roots remained intact."

The healer gave a smile of approval and turned towards to table. Placing the plant in a small urn, she added some water and placed it near the window. With the promise to plant it in soil later, she turned once more to the young man and noticed he held out a small blue object to her. Curiously, she picked up the object and inspected it carefully. After that, she raised a questioning brow at Mahado.

Feeding off Isis' reaction, Mahado grinned. It gave him a boyish look. "It's a topaz," he said brazenly, knowing full well Isis knew what the stone was. "And it's for you."

"For me?" Isis could not hide her surprise; it prompted a light guffaw from her companion.

"I saw it when I was passing through the town. I thought the colour would suit you very well; it's almost the same shade as your eyes."

Isis lowered her head to hide the blush that bloomed across her cheeks. She clutched her gift tightly in her hand and murmured, "Thank you, Mahado, it was very thoughtful of you. I will see what the jewellers can do with it."

Tapping a finger against his lips, Mahado looked thoughtful for a moment, then said, "I think it will go well in a necklet with the topaz as its centrepiece. What do you think?"

Isis' response could rival Ra's rays. Her smile lit up her face and her happiness shone through her eyes. "A necklet it is then," she declared determinedly, the blush deepening as she took a few steps closer to Mahado. Standing in front of him, she stood on tiptoes and pressed a chaste kiss on the man's bronze cheek. "Again, thank you, Mahado," she said softly. Pulling away and taking a step back, she looked up at him and smiled shyly, "Will you be free this evening to sup with me?"

Mahado nodded and replied, "I'll be here at sundown. It will give me enough time to report to Lord Shimon, wash off the dust and dirt of my travels, and rest for a while."

Isis tilted her head and playfully pushed him in the chest. "Well, you had better be off if you wish to have enough time to rest," she mock scolded. "Lord Shimon has a mission for us tomorrow. No doubt he will want to discuss it in details with you. I suggest you go now."

With mirth radiating from his eyes and twitching on his lips, Mahado gave Isis an exaggerated bow and retreated.

Inwardly sighing, Isis watched him leave with the feeling of pride and fondness swelling in her chest.

The boy had grown in the last three years and was as tall as Karim and Shadi. Taut muscles replaced the scrawny limbs and thin chest, and the shoulders had broadened out considerably. Now sporting a healthy tan, the young man had come a long way from the frail and sick youth they rescued. At the age of twenty-one, Mahado had transformed from a lanky and gawky youth to a confident, strong and handsome young man. His abilities had improved immensely too.

Surprisingly, Mahado turned out to be spell caster and was able to summon and chant spells to enhance his Ka's abilities. While his spells were mostly defensive as opposed to offensive, he managed them well, saving the group against Diabound's attacks on many occasions.

Although he had never managed to regain his memories, Mahado had managed to get by. As time passed, he spoke less and less of the mysterious Atem that Isis wondered if it was a figment of a sick and traumatised boy's imagination. Whatever it was, it mattered little. Instead of hankering over what he'd lost, Mahado concentrated on the present and the future. He focused on strengthening his body and mind. It enabled his Ka to grow strong. Through diligence and determination, he succeeded in mind summoning, but not within the time limit Lord Shimon set. Thus, he was held back and was made to study magic. Through that he learnt incantations and ways to improve his spirit guardian.

By the time he was able to prove himself worthy of being a hunter, two years had passed.

Despite being a full-fledged hunter, Shimon sent Mahado on smaller missions—missions that entailed the pursuit of minor criminals. It was the hunters' responsibility to eradicate all threat to the kingdom and that included the lesser threats too. Confrontations between Bakura and the hunters were rare; the confrontations between Bakura and Mahado were rarer. At first, Isis thought Bakura would evoke Mahado's memory to return, but shockingly it did not happen. Like Atem, recollection of the thief king remained locked away. His former captor was not the key to unlocking them.

Isis allowed herself to smile as she drifted over to the window where the Fenugreek Mahado had given her rested. Carefully, she caressed the fragile leaves. The seeds of the plant helped stimulate breast milk for nursing mothers. Isis remembered complaining offhandedly a while ago about how weak the ones she cultivated had become. She was surprised Mahado remembered. He was always so attentive.

Shaking her head, the next thought dampened Isis' spirits slightly. Mahado rarely forgot anything now. He greedily absorbed everything he was taught and told as readily as the desert soaked up water. That empty and blank mind was simply begging to be filled with fresh memories. And fresh memories his new family gave him. Lord Shimon was a kind master and a wise mentor. The older and mature Shadi and Karim treated him like a younger brother, doting on him and teasing him mercilessly about girls.

This time, Isis sighed aloud. Hunters drew a lot of admiration from the court so it was no surprise to Isis, Shadi and Karim that Mahado's sweet nature and handsome face attracted a lot of attention. Even Isis was not immune to the man's considerate and temperate disposition. After spending three years together, it was hard not develop feelings for him.

Since the beginning, they had bonded. Granted Mahado was a little lost and therefore clung to Isis for guidance, it nonetheless paved the way to an easy friendship. So intent on studying and getting stronger in order to join the elites, Mahado was oblivious to everything around him. It wasn't until Mahado was made a member of the hunters and became her equal that the friendship became something more. It was through Shadi and Karim's taunts and hints that Mahado finally realised it. Thinking back to the clumsy confession a year ago, Isis wondered if it wasn't through gratitude that Mahado committed himself.

However, with that said, they had formed a comfortable relationship with one other, albeit the progress was slow, it could not be helped. Mahado would be hesitant at times. It was why they were still in the early stages of their courtship. Nothing amounted to more than a soft peck on lips or cheeks. It was frustrating, but there was little she could do. Mahado may put on a confident façade to the outside world, but inside she could sense his nervousness when it came to intimacy. Like a skittish colt, sudden and assertive moves would frighten him and he would shy away.

Expelling a long drawn breath, Isis picked up her abandoned tools and resumed her work. If Mahado needed time to adjust then she would give it to him. As long as he became hers, she was content. She did not want to share him with anyone else, least of all to a lingering phantom-like presence called Atem.

O-o-O-o-O

Out in the courtyard once more, Mahado dug his hand into his pouch and withdrew another gem. The multi-faceted garnet glistened in the sun. Though it was darker than the rubies on his ring, it was no less magnificent.

Holding it up to the light, Mahado watched with fascination as the colour reflect off the jagged edges, adding sparkle and vibrancy to the stone. Dropping his hand down, he stared at the object as his thumb caressed the glowing red surface. Two slender brows drawn together in a tight frown as he brooded. He didn't know what possessed him to purchase the stone. He saw the topaz and it reminded him of Isis, then he noticed the garnet and . . .

The frown deepened.

For some bizarre reason, he was drawn to the garnet. Perhaps, it was the bold colour? Perhaps, it was the intense radiance? Or perhaps, it was the warmth that it radiated?

In the end he purchased the two gems, one as a display of affection and the other on a whim. For the latter, he felt reluctant to disregard it. He couldn't pretend to not see it when he felt something akin to familiarity towards it. It lured him, smothered him . . . made him want to lose himself in the crimson richness as it shone with . . . _what_?

The line of thought abruptly came to a halt. Like everything to do with his past, the memory rested beyond his reach, buried and completely inaccessible to him. Even the memory of Atem was becoming obscure. He felt the presence wane and dim with the passage of time. Try as he might to hold onto the spectre, it gradually slipped out of his grasp. The thought saddened him and he felt his heart constrict painfully.

"Atem . . ." he whispered. So lost in his reverie, Mahado barely managed to stop himself from pressing the stone to his lips.

Scowling irritably, he pocketed the garnet. This wasn't the time to get distracted by a pretty stone. He had a visit to make! Mahado knew—fond as the hunter leader was of him—it didn't make him less grouchy when he was kept waiting. No doubt news of his arrival would have reached the elder and he was expected to see him first.

Hurrying his strides, he sped on. The garnet in his pouch bounced against his thigh and unexpectedly he found the weight comforting.

O-o-O-o-O

The town was alive with the bustle of market day. People jostled against one another in the crowd. Some were trying to make their way through the throng and others were trying to get closer to inspect the wares the yelling vendors were offering.

Far from the maddening crowd, two cloaked figures hid in the shadows. Concealed in a narrow alley between two houses, they conspired in low voices.

"Is that so?" the deep voice asked rhetorically. "There will be minimal security in the village?"

A dip of the cloaked head was the answer the other needed.

"Good, then we will strike tonight. You will give me the directions to Kul Elna and I will rid the blight for you."

A slow smile crept across the silent one's face. Everything was going according to plan, he thought slyly. Bakura was his.

O-o-O-o-O

Atem laid there in his solitude bliss, his mind tired and his body spent from the farewell Bakura had given him. One would think Bakura would save his Ba for the upcoming raid, instead of squandering on coupling, but the zealous man refused to be persuaded otherwise. He was going to be away for two days, he wanted Atem to reek of him in his absence. That might very well be the case since Atem was too tired to move to wash off the scent of their rough rut in the open. Atem was lucky the refuge was secluded from prying eyes; the last thing he needed was an audience.

Mercifully, half the camp was in a frenzy to get ready for the mission. Only Bakura saw fit to act in a leisurely fashion, putting his pleasure first. He was fortunate Malik was so dedicated to him. The man's meticulous attention to details ensured the preparations were carried out efficiently. Bakura would make the final inspections before they set out.

Relaxing in the cool folds of the night, Atem shivered lightly and drew his red robe closer around him. At least, Bakura had the hindsight to dress and cover him with the robe before leaving. Though the night was a little chilly, the tranquillity was much cherished. Back at the village, the sound of drunk, rowdy men would ensure that he got very little of that, especially as their drinking spree would last well into the early hours of the morning.

_Just a little bit longer and then I'll go_, he promised himself as he wriggled to get comfortable. Tired eyes sliding shut and his body easing into a relaxed pose, he let out a sigh of contentment and, before he could stop himself, fell fast asleep.

O-o-O-o-O

He stared at gentle rise and fall of the exposed chest he was resting his head on. The rhythm of the strong heartbeat against his ear was soothing as it was comforting. The scent was wonderfully familiar and heart-warming.

The feeling of bliss flowed through him and he allowed a purr of gratification to escape him. The sound roused his sleeping companion and the body he was lying on stirred. Closing his eyes, he pretended to be asleep, knowing what would follow if he feigned unconsciousness.

Gentle fingers trailed back and forth across his cheek, neck and shoulder and a light kiss was placed on the crown of his head. He smiled inwardly, his body tingling with suppressed pleasure. When the body shifted once more he felt warm breath ghost near his ear as a low, soft voice whispered into them.

"Wake up, Atem."

At the command, pale eyelids fluttered open revealing sleepy crimson orbs. His lips curled up at the corners at the thought of seeing the person who was about to greet him. It took only a moment for his eyes to gain focus. It took only a moment for his mind to register the shock and horror that _did_ greet him.

Before he could utter a sound a cloth was placed over his mouth and nose, and he breathed in the pungent smell it released. Mandrake mixed with alcohol, his mind supplied redundantly. Rishid used it a lot on those who needed intense treatment. Eyes, wide with fear and alarm, grew heavy; his struggling limbs slowed until it could no longer move.

His last thought before blackness took over him was one filled with an aching sense of loss.

_The person . . . it wasn't Mahado._

~TBC~

O-o-O-o-O

**Author's Notes**: Yes, a cliffie _again_! I think (or at least, I hope) things will speed up from hereon. One can only guess what this unexpected turn of event will foreshadow. It'll be interesting to know your thoughts on it.

So, Mahado's finally made an appearance! Hands up those who did not see him hooking up with Isis! I always thought he was close to Isis and Mana in canon. I believe it's his kind and mild temperament that drew the fairer sex to him even though he can be stoic and a poker face at times.

Lastly, I would like to apologise for the delays in my updates. Procrastinating, RL and health issues have been the main culprits, and it's been tearing my concentration to shreds. Hopefully, this was an enjoyable chapter for all you awesome readers out there and know I am truly, _truly_ thankful for your constant love and support for this fic. Your reviews and thoughts on this story have kept me going and for that I am grateful. I hope you will continue let me know what you think about it and I will continue to look forward to your thoughts. Thanks for reading.

O-o-O-o-O

Iteru: One iteru is equivalent to 10.5KM.

Kalasiris: A simple sheath dress that women wore.

* * *

><p><span><strong>And here's the sneak peek to what's to come. Please enjoy<strong>:

_"It was then I found a new motivation in life, borne a new dream that spurred me on, drove me through the long arduous days and torturous nights. A single person who haunted my every thought."_

_Atem bit his lips and looked away—he dreaded what was to come._

_Leaning over to a small ear, the captor whispered, "It was you, Atem." The words spoken softly had a deadly effect. The menace in his admission had marked Atem as foe—the hostility was clear through the playful seductiveness of his tone. The youth inwardly trembled._

* * *

><p>Chibi, I know you know what happens next from donkey years ago, so no spoilers in your review and keep the squeeing to yourself for the time being. x<p> 


	14. Chapter 14

_**Edited 14/02/14**__: As promised, this is the original chapter 14. With the addition of the rape scene, the rest of the chapter remains the same as what was originally posted with the exception of minor amendments. For those who request this, your thoughts would be much appreciated._

* * *

><p><em>First of all, I would like to wish all my readers a belated "Happy New Year". May your 2014 be filled with happiness and yaoi . . . though some would agree that the two are the same thing!<em>

_Secondly, there is abuse and violence involved in this chapter, so viewing discretion is strongly advised for those with nervous and sensitive dispositions. I wrote parts of this chapter back in January 2012 (wow, it's been two years already?) so the outcome of what happens here was intended from the very beginning and not something I decided to do on a whim. I am sorry if it upsets anyone, but it is relevant to the overall plot._

_On a lighter note, however, some things will become clear and questions that been plaguing some of you since the beginning of the story will be answered . . . I hope._

_For those who've been patiently waiting for this chapter, I hope it was worth the wait._

_**Warnings**__: Please heed the following warnings: Graphic non-con, violence, swears, blood, and general cruelty and nastiness. Please proceed with caution. Also, the usual 'blah' applies and any errors incurred will be fixed and amended in due course. In the meantime, ignore them._

_**Disclaimer**__**: **__I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh!_

O-o-O-o-O

A strong potent smell caused Atem to wrinkle his nose in disgust as he was forced into consciousness. Hearing something shuffle away, he lifted his head to the sound. The sudden movement provoked a small groan through his lips.

Dusk greeted him when he opened his blurry eyes; he waited for his vision to adjust to the dimness before scanning the area.

Oil lamps illuminated what seemed to be a small, sparsely furnished bedroom with a messy, unmade cot to the side. The dilapidated state of the room suggested it had been abandoned long ago.

Lying on the dusty floor near a wall, Atem felt his arms and legs twitched when awareness returned to them, but when he tried to sit up, the effort made him dizzy. Weak from the concoction used on him, it took several attempts before he finally succeeded. It wasn't without consequences though. He was hit with a violent wave of nausea as soon as he righted himself.

Taking a moment to catch his breath and allow the queasiness to recede, he spied an outline of a person standing upright against the opposite wall. Concealed by the shadows, all Atem could make out was the silhouette's tall and large frame.

"Who . . .?" Atem tried to ask. His mouth was dry like papyrus. The question prompted the other to shift and move towards him.

Atem's heart quickened as the person approached—fear compelling his limbs to act. Pushing off the floor, he staggered to his feet. Then, leaning heavily against the wall behind him for support, he drew himself into a defensive stance and glared at the advancing figure. The darkness hid the person's identity, but Atem was familiar with the tall, muscular body. He knew that confident swagger. _He knew that man_.

Even then, he could not believe his eyes when the man towered over him. Those powerful arms placed on either side of his head . . . caging him.

"Hasan?" The name was spoken with hesitancy.

Recognition made the man smirk. "We meet again, young master. It has been a long time," Hasan said, trailing a finger down the frowning face. "And my, how beautiful you've become too. I always knew you would turn heads, I just didn't realise you could invoke desire from even the coldest men. I heard you are very popular at the camp."

The derision in the remark was easily detected and Atem bristled indignantly at the taunt, but chose not to react to it. Without doubt, and much to his regret, this was not going to be a happy reunion. So he responded in kind. "I don't give a shit about what you heard about me," he retorted dismissively. "Where am I and what am I doing here?"

Unfazed by the rude answer, Hasan replied with a chuckle and said, "Where you are is of no consequence and as to why you are here . . . well, let's just say I was curious to see why the Thief King saw fit to prize you the way he does."

"Did you see enough?" Atem sarcastically snapped. "If so, release me!"

"Tsk, what a rude way of asking! The life of crime and whoring has made you so unrefined, _young master_." The title was spat contemptuously. It was a mocking parody of what it once meant to the both males. "That vulgar mouth does not suit that pretty face. What a shameful waste."

"Why are you doing this?" Atem demanded haughtily, his body taut and vibrating with anger.

"Why?" Hasan laughed. "After you betrayed me, you ask _why_ I am doing this?"

Realisation hit home and Atem's expression twisted into one of remorse. "I was young and naïve," he admitted softly, dropping his eyes to the ground guiltily, "if I caused you pain, I am truly sorry. I wanted to apologise to you, but you did not give me the opportunity. You avoided me like I was a leper and then you disappeared—"

The slamming of a fist into the wall caused Atem to baulk and look up.

"Did you expect me to dismiss _her_ from my mind and heart like your father did from his house?" hissed Hasan. "I left to search for her, stopping at various places, wandering aimlessly for hints to where she could have gone. I loved her. I loved her with all my heart!"

Atem flinched at the confession; it opened fresh wounds in his heart.

"I could have forgiven you if all was well with her. I could have overlooked the offence had she not suffered the consequences of your childishness and your father's cruel disregard." Hurt and anger seeped from Hasan's words and tore at Atem's heart. He'd only realised now, the extent he had aggrieved the man.

"By the time I found her, she was no longer the sweet and lovely girl I knew. Worn down by prostitution and abuse; she was spent, haggard and bitter. Not even a shadow of her former self was evident in that woman anymore. After searching for so long and enduring the pain of loneliness, I discover the keeper of my heart was already dead. My dreams shattered and a piece of me died. And do you know whose fault was that, young master?"

Atem's eyes widened and he gulped down the dread that rose from the depths of his belly to his throat. The hate in the glare made him fearful. He dared not reply.

"It was then I found a new motivation in life, borne a new dream that spurred me on, drove me through the long arduous days and torturous nights. A single person who haunted my every thought."

Atem bit his lips and looked away—he dreaded what was to come.

Leaning over to a small ear, the captor whispered, "It was you, Atem." The words spoken softly had a deadly effect. The menace in his admission had marked Atem as foe—the hostility was clear through the playful seductiveness of his tone. The youth inwardly trembled.

"All I could think about was you and how I could repay you for the pain you caused. I wanted you to feel the torment of losing those you love, I wanted you to feel the shame of subservience and I wanted you to feel the humiliation of being forced and _fucked_ against your will."

Atem stood motionless, his eyes staring up at the man he idolised as a child. The cold fingers of realisation snaked through his being, gripping his lungs, constricting his heart and sending chills down his spine.

_NO!_

The wide-eyed look of disbelief told Hasan his words had the exact effect it intended. He smirked triumphantly. "Yes, my sweet young master, _I_ was the one who discreetly revealed that Master Aknamkanon had a jewel that was beautiful and priceless. It wasn't hard to draw the attention of the scouts who worked for the Thief King to your home, just as it was easy to attract the curiosity of their leader to you. I was certain Bakura would be unable to resist the boy with eyes the colour of blood gems."

"You, _bastard_!" snarled Atem, his anger rising as he grasped the extent of Hasan's treachery. "You murdered my family, my people because you had a grudge against _me_? If that were the case you could have taken it up with me, you could have exacted your revenge on me alone! Why did you have to involve innocent lives? How could you? You knew them too!"

Hasan laughed. "All feelings and sentiments died the day I found Samira, and you expect me to be compassionate?"

"Fuck you, coward!"

The back of a large hand landed on the cheek of the small face, the force of it knocked the tricolour head to one side. A trickle of blood trailed from the corner of the bruised lips and ran down his chin. Atem glared hatefully at the man in front of him, the coppery taste of blood was unpleasant in his mouth.

So he spat it in Hasan's face.

Another backhand was served to the defiant youth. However, before Atem could retaliate, Hasan grabbed him by the jaw and hissed, "Unless you want my fist in your mouth next time, I suggest you think about your next action."

Atem ground his teeth together and swallowed. His eyes blazed with hatred at the man who had taken everything he held dear and reduced him to a life of depravation. Much like Samira's.

_Gods, so it was my fault that everyone died_.

Stemmed from jealousy and possessiveness he had of Hasan, he had unwittingly triggered the chain of events that led him to his present predicament and the others demise. _He_ deserved it, but the others didn't. The accusation resounded loudly in his mind. The fight had dissipated from him and he wilted beneath Hasan's angry glare. Guilt-ridden, he offered the only thing he could that might appease the other's pain and atone for his actions.

"Then kill me," he implored. "Kill me to pacify your hatred and soothe your rage." It was spoken without true thought to the consequences it entailed and how it would affect more innocent lives. Remorse was an overwhelming emotion and a powerful inhibitor. It clouded his ability to think rationally. There was so little he could offer Hasan that could atone for his wrongdoings.

Shocked by the words, Hasan looked suspiciously at the young man, his eyes trying to work out if there was deception in the sudden entreaty. However, he was met with sincerity. Half-lidded eyes looked beseechingly at him, lips still parted from the humble plea. To Hasan, it looked as if it were inviting a lover to press a mouth on them and pry it open with a slippery tongue . . .

Hasan smirked and licked his lips as he looked appreciatively at the lithe body. Sodomy wasn't something he practiced, but he could always make an exception.

"Why should I, my beautiful young master? Why should I allow you to die that easily when I can punish you in a way that befits your status? A whore you are and a whore you'll be treated!"

Atem closed his eyes as fingers tore open his tunic. Greedy hands and hot lips feasted on his flesh. The touch that fondled and groped his body was calloused and coarse, the actions were urgent and rough. It was foreign to what Atem had witnessed a lifetime ago. Gone were the gentle caresses Hassan had bestowed on his female lover, gone were the languid movements. Hasan moved like a crazed man. His frenzied hands gripped and clawed Atem's flesh leaving red marks behind.

Atem bit down on the pain when fingers entwined in his hair and tugged hard. His head was pulled back and his throat exposed and arched in a graceful curve. Snarling teeth clamped down on the pale flesh and bit down _hard_. The sudden pain compelled Atem to respond. One hand grabbed the other man's hair at the nape and tried to pull the face off his neck. The other pushed on a broad shoulder.

At first, Hasan resisted. The pathetic struggles the other was giving only served to heighten his lust and he bit harder into the flesh until he could taste blood. The boy's cries were the sweetest sound he'd come across in a long time. He sucked and gnawed causing the other to push and pulled harder. Eventually, as panic set in, the boy used both hands to drag back his head. With a snarl, Hasan released the neck and pulled back his face to stare down at the culprit. Displeasure etched plainly on his face.

Atem stared back at him with loathing and defiance burning in his eyes, his heart thumping wildly and his breathing expelled in short and shallow pants. The pain and exertion forced his bare chest to rise and fall sharply as his body hungrily gulped down each breath. Both males had their hands wound in each other's hair. Where Atem had both in Hasan's, the latter had only one.

Hasan's lips curled cruelly at the corners as he quirked a brow. "My, this petulance . . . this boldness. Is this the reason why the Thief King is so besotted with you?" The sneer in Hasan's voice was laced with amused sarcasm as he stared into those smouldering depths of red. "Is this how you entice your men, so they fight over you? Is this how you bewitch the King of Thieves, so you share no other's bed, but his?" Then, withdrawing his hands from Atem's head, he encircles them around the youth's wrists. Thin lips widen into a malicious grin as Hasan whispers his demands to his captive, "If you don't let go of my hair now, I'll break your wrists."

Conflicting decisions warred within Atem. After spending years with Bakura, the desire to defy the command was spontaneous and his fingers almost tightened around those black locks. However, the pressure on his wrists tightened, warning him to rethink his decision. The cold, narrowed glint in Hasan's eyes was caution alone and the cruel sneer on his face promised humiliation and pain should he disobey.

Pain was not new to Atem; one did not reside with the thieves and not know the meaning of pain. Didn't he live through the torment of knowing that all those he loved and cared for was dead and that he would never see them again? The painful knowledge was something that remained with him from the moment he woke to the time sleep claims him. No, pain was not new to Atem. For three years, his heart was ripped out daily and left to bleed in the culprit's hands. It tortured his soul and mocked the pitiful existence he called life.

Little by little, he lost a piece of himself. Pieces were torn from him when his father and Mahado died. Another, when he was forced to submit to the brute that made it so. And now, finally reunited with Hasan, another piece of him is taken away. Soon, he'll have nothing to give. What would happen to him then? Would he be cast aside and whored out like Samira—used until he was nothing but an empty husk, drained and too tired to move? What then? Would he be discarded too?

The hand on his wrist tightened again, cutting off the blood to the balled fist and colouring it purple. It shook Atem from his morbid musings.

Slowly, Atem relaxed his fingers and allowing some of the raven tresses slip through his fingers.

"Good boy," Hasan said condescendingly.

The comment irked Atem thus jolting him out of his resignation. Bakura would use the same tone when he yielded and it always, much to the thief's amusement, provoked a response from him.

Baring his teeth in rage, Atem intensified his grip once more and tugged hard. "Fuck you!" he snarled venomously. It prompted a vicious reaction from his captor.

Disregarding the pain Atem had on him, Hasan dug his fingers into the soft underside of the other's wrist. Nails drove deep into the flesh and veins. The pain and the numbness it evoked caused Atem's hold to involuntarily loosen. Once Hasan felt the other's fingers loosen, he forced the hands away from his head and dropped one of them. Then, he twisted the arm he was holding behind Atem's back and turned him around. With the latter's back pressed against his chest, he guided Atem towards the untidy bed.

There was resistance with every step Atem took. Knowing what would occur when he reached the bed, he obstinately dug in his heels and pushed back against the larger man, hoping he could stall the procession. Unfortunately, it only delayed the inevitable and both men knew it.

Nevertheless, it didn't stop the smaller man from trying and it infuriated Hasan to no ends. Finally, with crumbling impatience, he released Atem and shoved him hard in the back.

Atem fell spread-eagled across the bed; his breath stolen from him as he landed on his face and stomach. Quickly spinning around, he glared at the man who manhandled him and growled, "Bastard!"

Ignoring the insult, Hasan sauntered to the bed, removing his garments with each intimidating step. First, the cloak was undone and discarded followed by the shenti and the loincloth.

Atem's eyes widened with horror as he watched the man strip and loom menacingly over him. Supressing his apprehension, he shuddered and looked away, his eyes frantically darting around the room for an escape whilst trying hard not to think about how aroused the other was. He had forgotten how well endowed Hasan was. One glance at man's erection was enough to make Atem fearful. He cursed silently when he discerned the door behind his captor. It would be impossible to get passed the man to get to the door, let alone flee.

Placing one knee on the bed, Hasan slowly leaned towards Atem. The vicious smile he sported complemented the hunger in those dark eyes.

Trepidation filled Atem as he shifted backwards, trying to put as much distance between Hasan and himself as possible, which, in truth, wasn't much. He cringed when a calloused hand reached out to rest somewhere on his lower body. Out of instinct and fright, he kicked out, his heel slamming against the other's stomach with as must force as he could muster. The attack was woefully inadequate against Hasan's hard, toned muscles. The man's expression did not change the slightest. The smile still graced his face and the lust was still there. It intensified with the promise of a severe retribution.

Despite his bulky size, Hasan was swift and agile. Pouncing on his victim, he seized the tattered parts of Atem's tunic and tugged it off before Atem had the chance to protest. With the same efficiency, he proceeded to dispose of the cumbersome loincloth, which was met with fierce resistance. Hasan found it amusing.

"Your struggles are futile," he jeered, watching Atem stubbornly hold on to his last piece of clothing.

But, Atem wasn't about to submit so readily. The thought of being violated by someone other than Bakura was truly frightening. "Release me now and I vow not breath a word of it to anyone," he reasoned shakily, vying for a change of tactics. Laughable as it was, persuasion was the only option left open to him. He was desperate and it showed. "No one will know what transpired here today. _No one_!"

A laugh was all the response Atem got. It mocked him for even suggesting it. With that hateful sound ringing in his ears, the last shred of clothing—the remaining bit of his defence—was wrenched away from his hands.

With a loud gasp, the remaining obstacle that preserved whatever was left of his threadbare dignity was stripped away from him as easily as peeling the skin of a fig. It left him half-reclined, defenceless and naked. The position gave off an air of submissiveness, but the flame of defiance burning intensely within those crimson orbs showed the victim it was anything but.

"You know you'll not get away with this!" Atem snapped brusquely, bridling to the way he was dismissed. He was stalling for time, hoping . . . _praying_ that something or someone would intervene. He knew such thoughts and beliefs were foolish and it was enforced when Hasan leaned down. Atem rolled over and scuttled off the bed, making a dash for the door. The concern for his nakedness was secondary to the need to escape . . . but he didn't get far.

Strong arms encircled his waist and lifted him—kicking and flailing—off the ground before throwing him back onto the bed. The impact of Atem's head and back hitting the firm surface rendered him temporarily stunned. The image of him arching his back and groaning in pain only made matters worse for himself.

Standing by the edge of the bed, Hasan glanced fleetingly at the sprawled figure then, without so much of a word or warning, he flipped Atem onto his stomach, grasped him by the ankles and pulled the dazed boy closer to himself, parting the legs so he was situated snuggly between them.

_No, no, NO!_ Atem cried out in his mind as fear solidified and settled heavily in the pits of his stomach.

Unceremoniously dragged out of his pained stupor, it took a moment for Atem to realise what was happening before he retaliated. Kicking and thrashing he tried to escape from Hasan's hold—tried to claw away from the man he once worshipped. His actions, however, were in vain. Large hands released his ankles and sought purchase on his hips. Fingers gripped his hipbone whilst thumbs dug into his buttocks, parting the cheeks to expose the puckered entrance and stretching it.

_No, no, NO!_

The hold on his waist was too strong. Atem frantically tried to slap the man's hands away. He tried prying those bruising fingers away from his body. Anxiety and alarm crawled through his skin and bled through his pores. He could feel the heat radiating from the erection that was rubbing along the crevice of his rear and he knew what was next.

"No . . . " he whispered, the plea in his voice inaudible above the pounding of blood in his ears and the hammering of his heart. _No! Please, gods, no_—

Hasan penetrated Atem in one mighty thrust, breaching the ring of muscle with one fluid motion and sheathing his hardened flesh fully inside the rigid body.

Despite his determination not to satisfy his assailant with a response, Atem screamed.

Shifting his fingers into comfortable grip, Hasan pulled out his cock and rammed it back inside again. Slamming his hips so hard that it the other body rocked forward with the force. Another scream escaped the boy, the sound inciting and sating the demon within him. Without allowing the sound to fade, he continuously plummeted the body, ensuring the boy's screams never stopped or petered out . . . Not even to stop for air.

"That's it, whore, scream for me. Scream for me!" The taunt was followed by a cruel laugh. "Perhaps if you beg, I may be inclined to end this swiftly . . . that is if you satisfy me enough."

Atem managed to clamp his jaws together to prevent further sounds from escaping him. It didn't stop the small grunts of pain though. "Fuck you, bastard," he gritted through his teeth. "T-to think . . . I-I . . . ad-m-mired . . . you!" Atem's voice shook with the ferocious pounding he was receiving from behind; there wasn't anything he could steady himself with. The firm grip on his body prevented him from crawling away—not that he could move. He was immobilised from the treatment. Mortification flooded through him as Hasan impaled him repeatedly.

Closing his eyes and dropping his head onto the bed, he willed his mind to separate from his body. He was in so much pain. His body found it hard to adjust to the other's wide girth. Each savage thrust was tearing his opening and splitting his insides apart, smearing it with his own blood. He could feel the sticky wetness between his legs. He could feel it coat the sacs that nestled under his limp cock. He was thankful Bakura had taken him before he left, at least the thief's essence helped slicken his passage and thus lubricating the meaty folds.

It was small comfort though. By taking him dry and without preparation, the large cock inside rubbed him raw and setting a blazing trail of fire with each thrust. It felt like his insides were being branded it with a hot iron rod. Tears of agony sprung readily into his eyes and slipped down his cheeks, Atem hastily scrubbed his face into the coarse bedding to remove all traces of them. He couldn't help the screams and cries that involuntary tore through his lips and stoked the man's libido, but he refuse give the latter the satisfaction of seeing him cry as well.

Atem let out a choked gasp when a vicious tug of the hair snapped his head back and Hasan's sneering face appeared in his line of vision.

"And to think I trusted _you_, young master," the other replied with false sweetness, the words laden with bitterness and poison. "To think I protected you from those who wished to violate you. It's ironic, isn't it? It's ironic how everything turned out the opposite of everybody's expectations," the declaration was punctuated with a mirthless snicker.

Releasing the hair and grabbing both of Atem's arms, Hasan pulled them behind the boy's back and used them to guide the reluctant body back and forth, ensuring it moved backwards to meet his thrusts. The sound of flesh striking flesh, breathless pants and brusque grunts delighted him. The boy's passage grew tighter as time wore on. The pain must have caused the walls to constrict and clamp down on his cock; it was as if it was punishing him for the intrusion. Not that it deterred him in any way. Had it been a lover he would have been concerned, he would have coaxed the rigid body to relax with soft touches and butterfly kisses. But this was Atem; this was the boy who cost him everything!

Rage rose again and he released the boy's arms to shove his head on the bed and hold it there. Grinding his body against the pliant one beneath, he began pounding into the slippery channel at a rigorous pace. The baser instinct surfacing to the forefront and getting the better of him, his hips snapping fiercely as he delivered thrust after thrust.

The boy remained unresponsive—not that he cared. It wasn't about fulfilment. If there was any satisfaction to be gained it was all one-sided. And pleasure was what he got. Atem had stuffed one of his fist into his mouth to stop the cries of pain from escaping, but it did nothing stop the soft whimpers leaking out. The sound and the image were beautiful to behold. Hasan wondered if this was what the Thief King saw every time he rutted with him. He wondered how the other would respond when he was more . . . _willing_. Judging from his disgruntled source, the moans and mewls that came from Bakura's chambers were anything but painful.

Furthermore, the other thief, Malik, had always bragged about Bakura's aggressive and assertiveness prowess in bed. Hasan wasn't sure if Bakura treated his pet the same, but the Thief King was certainly not a gentle lover nor was he quick to finish. The man's stamina was supposedly legendary at the camp, which meant the little whore had endurance. Amidst the anger, it sparked his curiosity. He couldn't help the cruel barb that flowed out from him.

"Despite being fucked abundantly, you are still so tight, young master. See how your body is sucking my cock, feel how it's greedily hugging onto it and not wanting to let go. Is this how you've managed to keep the Thief King entertained?" he sneered. "Is this how you've managed to keep him keen."

Shoving his hard length into the abused hole, Hasan paused and leant down so he was pressed firmly against the smaller back. Teeth worried the fleshy tips of the other's ear before jeering softly into them, his groin grinding against the taut buttocks to enforce his point. "Show me how you service your master. Show me what you've learnt in these past few years, bare the whore to me and perhaps I'll be gentler on you."

Atem supplied a derisive snort to the demand, the slight curve of his lips showing his scorn, and scoffed, "My _master_ is a barbarian, but he is skilled and knows how to pleasure." The retort was caustic and barely audible since his head was half crushed on the bed, but it didn't stop him from verbally biting back. Retaliation had been ingrained into him, courtesy of the Thief King. "While you, on the other hand, are nothing but a bully and a boor with cowardly tendencies. You needn't use the thieves to exact your revenge; you could have done it yourself! You could have taken me from my father, knowing the loss would have broken his heart, and held me captive instead. You didn't need to kill innocent people. My disappearance alone would have pained father for the rest of his life. It would have been his retribution."

Hasan laughed and licked Atem's cheek, "True that may be, but the purpose of the thieves capturing you was for you to experience the life of a whore. Unfortunately, I wasn't counting on the Thief King's possessiveness to thwart my plan. Still," Hasan peeled himself away from the sweaty body and straightened out once more. He pulled out his cock until only the tip was buried inside to admire the glistening red wetness of it before slamming back inside again. "I can't say I am disappointed with the outcome."

The pounding resumed at a ferocious pace with every intention to hurt the recipient. The muffled groans gave every indication of that, which encouraged Hasan immensely.

Atem shifted his legs and lowered his hips, trying to find a position that would lessen the pain and discomfort. As if sensing what he was trying to do, Hasan let go of Atem's head and lifted the boy back on all fours again. The position allowed him to penetrate deeper into the abused body.

Diving into the opening with renewed vigour, the thick appendage scrapped and stretched Atem's insides, burning the fleshy walls and chafing it with each stroke. It sickened Atem to hear the slippery sound of the other's cock spearing his body; it sickened him to hear the sound of the man's undisguised pleasure. Pain wracked his body as his assailant sped up.

Firm hands gripped his waist as the other began his ascent, squeezing harder as he dove harder into his body. As if jab after jab wasn't enough, Hasan slid his hands down to his buttocks and pulled them apart, gripping the curved mounds with his thumbs and stretching his battered opening. Held in that position, Atem felt the cock slid out of him completely, only for it to be plunged straight back in again. The force in which it dove back in ensured the other was embedded deep inside him. He could feel the impressive girth and massive length push passed everything in its way, regardless of the resistance encountered.

Like Hasan, nothing deterred the cock that was invading his body and filling him until he felt he was bursting at the seams from the inside out. He laid there, on the bed with his legs spread like the whore he was and taking it, taking it all in and grunting with the impact.

The fullness never went away. Even when Hasan pulled most of his length out, he could still feel its lingering presence in the deepest part of him. The speed and ferocity the man was plummeting into him never gave his passage to contract again. He was sure his inside was covered with the fluid from Hasan's arousal and that it mingled with his own blood and that of Bakura's seed. He felt more defiled and filthy than he thought possible. How would Bakura react when he learns about the assault? Would the Thief King find him unfit for his bed and abandon him? The thought of sharing the shame fate as Hasan's lover sent spikes of terror down his spine. He would rather die than be subject to such treatment. Maybe he could beg Bakura to grant him a quick death instead?

Atem cried out when Hasan used his hair as a tether to move his body until his back was flushed against the broad chest. One strong arm wrapped around Atem's torso whist the other clawed at the toned midriff. Atem hissed with pain as nails scrapped across his skin leaving red rivers in its wake, it stung when it mingled with the sweat on his skin. Thankfully, Hasan's frenzied movements became erratic and jerky, signalling the end was nigh.

Fast and hard breathing were disrupted with low, feral grunts. It matched the savage way the assailant clawed, dug and tore into his victim's flesh.

Teeth dragged and tugged across damp skin, settling on the conjuncture between the neck and the shoulder. Then it sunk deep. The piercing of the flesh simultaneously produced a piercing scream from the receiver and thus pushing the aggressor over the edge.

Hasan climaxed, his orgasm pulsing out of him in hot streams and filling the narrow channel with his release. The convulsions of his throbbing cock vibrated violently against the moist folds were stimulating.

Slumping face first back onto the bed, Atem's reprieve was short-lived. All hopes for a respite died when he was flipped onto his back and his legs parted and carelessly flung over broad shoulders. Another hoarse scream was ripped out of him when he was penetrated again.

O-o-O-o-O

_Pain . . ._

_So much pain . . ._

Never had he been treated with such brutality. Not even Bakura was this ruthless—not even when he was at his roughest.

Shifting through the pain in his battered body, Atem fought to open his eyes. It was difficult when all he wanted to do was to sink back into the dark void that subdued the pain that was consuming him.

Biting back a groan, he jammed his jaws together and inhaled through his nose. Immediately, he was assaulted with the stale smell of alcohol and coupling that permeated the air. It made him nauseous.

Temporarily admitting defeat, he kept his eyes shut and decided to remain still so he could mentally assess the damage done to him. It was no surprise to feel the lower half of his body stiff and throbbing mercilessly. It brought his thoughts back to Hasan and he wondered where the man was. Mercifully, he had lost consciousness during the third time he was taken. Overwhelmed by the agony, he blissfully blacked out. Whether it deterred the other or not from continuing, he did not know.

Turning is head to the side, he pried open his eyes and saw his captor lying asleep beside him, an arm flung above his head and a frown carved between his brows. Although he was not moving, Atem could tell Hasan was restless. He wondered if it would affect his chances of escaping once he was able to ignore the protests his body.

Determined to take his chances, Atem held his breath and began shifting to the edge of the bed. His gaze never leaving the sleeping man. The movements were slow and minuscule. Fear veiled his pain; the need to flee over-powered all else. The silence was deafening despite no sound was made and it screamed loud in his ears.

Eventually, he managed to successfully roll onto to his front when he got to the edge and gently slid his feet to the ground. Dare he retrieve his discarded clothing or should he endure the loss and humiliation in favour of freedom?

A quick scan around the area and he saw his tunic on the floor not far from him.

Carefully, lifting himself off the bed, he was about to sneak away when a hand grabbed his hair and tugged him back on the bed. Grimacing to the pain that lanced from his lower back to his scalp, he instantly reached for the hand that was entwined in his hair and tried to pry the fingers away.

"Fuck you, bastard!" snarled Atem.

In a flash, Hasan was straddling Atem's body. A hand was around the latter's throat, watching with sadistic glee as the other's eyes widen with shock.

"You shouldn't have done that, young master," he drawled lazily, pressing down on the soft column of flesh that was marred with bloody bruises. The pressure he was exerting was not life threatening . . . _yet_. "You could have prolonged your pathetic existence for a little longer if you hadn't been foolish enough to think you could escape me."

Ignoring the boy's struggles and whimpers, he pushed his weight down on the squirming form. "Now you've gone and spoilt it all," he continued with feigned regret in his voice and cracking a savage smile. "Shall I tell you a secret?" he asked rhetorically, not caring if Atem answered or not. Leaning down to Atem's face, he watched his victim closely as he divulged his _secret_. "Your old man died the same way," he purred happily, as if recalling a fond memory, "only he resisted less. Unlike you, he didn't put up much of a fight. It was such a disappointing performance, I must say, considering how bold he was prior to his downfall."

As expected the admission knocked all the fight out of Atem. The squirming stopped abruptly as the news sunk in. All Atem could do was stare in horror at the man who confessed to murdering his father. His jaw moved up and down, but no words came out. The smirk the other wore showed no remorse, no shame for the disaster and tragedy that befell the house that once employed him. This was the man he once revered, trusted and _loved_. It was also the same man who betrayed and killed his father for vengeance. The same man who delivered him into Bakura's hands and the same man who was currently pressing down on his throat with the intent to kill.

Gasping futilely for breath, he felt the edges of unconsciousness creep in. He placed his hands over the one enclosed around his neck, but found no strength to pry it away. Weak from the lack of oxygen, he became delirious; his thoughts became incoherent with each heartbeat.

_Bakura_ . . .

He blamed the thief for his father's death even though the other denied doing it.

What would Bakura do when he finds his naked, lifeless body? Would he blame Atem for not fighting harder? Would he take it out on the innocent again?

The thought of dying people and burning villages was enough to spur him on. Atem realised he didn't want to die. With newfound strength, he reached up to claw Hasan's face and his eyes out, the ploy was to force the latter to release him. However, it failed dismally. Atem's hands were intercepted and captured by Hasan's other hand. Angry at his failure, he tried to wrestle his hands free, but it only encouraged Hasan to squeeze his neck that much harder. With his vision blurring, his eyes rolling back and his eyelids growing heavy, he silently called out to the person who sprung to mind.

_Bakura_!

Whether it was a plea for help or a plea for leniency towards those the King of Thieves vowed would join him upon his death, the name was filled with desperation and need. Pain erupted in his upper left arm and shoulder as a burst of light ruptured the room, stunning both occupants. With the last of his strength drained and unable to stay conscious any longer, Atem succumbed to the darkness. The last thing he recalled was the release of pressure around his throat and a loud crack from the other side of the room.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he thought he heard Bakura calling him.

"Bakura . . ." he rasped back before losing consciousness. As expected the darkness was welcoming.

O-o-O-o-O

The sound of horses' pounding on the ground filled the night. The two riders pressed their stallions to hurry across the arid terrain with utmost urgency.

One rider needed to cover as much distance as possible to get to his destination, his pale eyes never leaving the shadowy form of his Ka. The other zealously shadows the first rider; his eyes adhered onto the cloaked figure in front of him.

"Ya!" The first rider urged his horse faster, ignoring the fact that they were already going at breakneck pace. All the while, his turbulent mind overflows with the same repetitive thought.

_Where did it go wrong?_

Looking back, he had little cause for complaint. The raid was partially a success.

The convoy consisted of about a hundred and fifty men and two hunters. It was enough to keep Bakura and Diabound busy whilst Malik and his men plundered and fought the odd strays. Bakura was pleased the enemies managed to put up a decent fight despite being caught unawares. He found the confrontation exhilarating albeit it was a little tepid.

_So where did it go wrong?_

Everything was going well until he felt the boy call out to him. To his surprise, Diabound's form faltered momentarily, flickering dangerously like a flame in a strong draught.

Once again, he was assailed with the sensation he hadn't felt since the day he found Atem unconscious by his own hands. Trepidation gripped him and he broke out in a cold sweat. He called for his men to retreat, ignoring the stunned look from thieves and foes alike, and ignoring the accusatory glare Malik was sending him. Ordering Diabound to release a powerful shockwave into the fray, he used the ensuing chaos and confusion as a smokescreen to make a hasty retreat.

Without remonstrating, all thirty-one men dutifully followed their leader. They knew better than to utter a word of protest. The murderous look Bakura sported promised pain to those who questioned his decision. Even the ever-bold Malik held his tongue and curiosity in check. It wasn't until they were few iteru away did they stop. Instructing Malik and the men to return to Kul Elna with the spoils, Bakura turned and sped off, demanding Diabound to lead the way to _him_. He didn't want to risk going back to the camp where the boy supposedly was . . . to find he wasn't. He couldn't afford to squander time if the other had little to spare.

Bakura knew what Diabound's momentarily relapse was. He knew something must have happened for the boy to call out to him like that. Something must have happened for Atem to swallow his pride and _call_ him. It also activated the spell that had been dormant for the past three years and forcing a response—an intervention—from his Ka.

Not caring that Malik had disobeyed his orders and was following him, he continued to push forth. The wind and dust mingled with his anxiety and desperation.

_Atem_, he thought feverishly, _let nothing bad befall him_.

O-o-O-o-O

Atem woke with a weak cough that burned his throat. Clutching his sore neck, he sat up and shook his head to clear it. Then he coughed again.

"Shit," he croaked, the word scrapping his throat as it tumbled out. He hurt everywhere. Looking down, he saw dried blood and seed covering his bruised thighs and the bed. He tried to shrug it off, but a twang of pain on his left side stopped him. Glancing towards the source, he noticed the image of the Ouroboros covered in congealed blood. It would have explained the intense pain he felt before he passed out, but it didn't explain why it began bleeding.

Crimson eyes scanned the room for Hasan. Luckily for him, dawn was breaking and the light breaching the horizon through the broken roof gave him a good view of the large man lying unconscious and in a heap in a corner of the room. Part of a wall had collapsed and crumbled, and he was covered in the debris. Atem silently thanked whomever or whatever it was that intervened and gave him the opportunity to escape.

Ignoring the screams of his aching body, Atem cautiously and silently got off the bed. He was tempted to go over to the man and check if he was still alive or not, but the wary side of him discouraged it. It wasn't worth the risk.

Picking his discarded clothing off the floor, he donned them quickly, not caring that it wasn't straight or adjusted properly. Trembling fingers and aching limbs weren't very cooperative and he couldn't afford the hindrance.

Dressed in his torn tunic and loincloth, and still covered in the remnants of his assault, he grabbed Hasan's cloak and threw it over his shoulders. Then he picked up his sandals and departed with them in his hands. He didn't have time to waste with tying them up. He'd put them on when there was a fair amount of distance between him and his assailant. The further, the better.

The sight of a deserted village greeted him when he stepped outside. The place reeked of abandonment and dilapidation. It wouldn't surprise Atem if Hasan chose the location because of its remoteness. Even so, there was no way the latter could have brought him here without some mode of transportation—not matter how strong he was. Atem knew the man must have a horse tethered somewhere. He needed to find it fast.

Closing his eyes and frowning in concentration, he listened for signs of life. Eventually, he was rewarded with a few softs snorts not far from him. Limping as fast as his body would allow, he headed in that direction.

Hasan's steed pawed the ground as it eyed Atem suspiciously. It took all of Atem's patience to coax the animal into allowing him to harness it with a saddle and bridle. He sensed the beast's agitation whilst he worked on his task. The animal's restlessness informed him that it was eager to leave too. The place gave out an aura that made them feel on edge.

Once he accomplished preparing the horse, he led it to a low broken wall and held it as he scaled the wall. It took all his strength to suppress the scream of pain as he mounted the animal. By the time he rode out of the village, he was sweating from the pain and effort. Still, it could be overlooked as long as he was able to reclaim his freedom. Not even the fact that he didn't know the way back to Kul Elna could dampen his spirit. He'll think of a way soon enough. For now, he needed to get away. Without a backward glance, Atem hurried into the dawn

O-o-O-o-O

Scorched inside and out by the fiery sun, the weary cloaked figure swayed precariously in the saddle. Their pace had been reduced to a slow, languid trot after riding hard through the morning. By the time the sun settled high in the sky, the pair was exhausted. It didn't help that they had no food, water or destination in mind.

The rider couldn't even manage a groan of exasperation through his ravaged and parched throat. The harsh riding had aggravated the wound in his rear, causing it to bleed again. The blood had seeped through his undergarment and stuck to his skin thus furthering his discomfort.

Leaning down, Atem rested his cheek on the horse's mane and forced a tired smile from his chapped lips. It was ironic how—after everything he went through—he was going to die alone in some gods-forsaken place. At least it's peaceful, he thought dryly.

The pain in his rear had lessened since the shift in the position on the horse. Without his full weight on it, the throbbing was marginally tolerable. Now, instead of fighting the pain, he was trying to not give into the lull of sleep. The rhythmic rocking beneath only added to his woes. Slowly, his eyes slid shut, only for him to force them apart again. Try as he might to stay awake, the battle was a losing one.

With a sigh, he gave in and allowed the tendrils of darkness with its numbing sweetness to surround him. If it weren't for an almost indiscernible roar that alerted him, Atem would have been happy to pass out.

Reluctantly prying his eyes open, he scanned the horizon. What he saw made him bolt upright and stare in awe.

Far in the distant and high up in the sky was a flying winged-beast that shone silvery white whilst it danced gracefully in the air; its movements were fluid and majestic. Atem could only gape in admiration when the creature opened its voracious maws and discharged an attack that was, both, horrifying and beautiful to watch. It covered a vast part of the surrounding area with a blinding white light that blazed brighter than even the sun's rays. It wasn't until the effects of the attack faded that realisation hit Atem.

The creature was a Ka! Which meant it had a wielder!

Gritting his teeth, Atem summoned the remainder of his strength and spurred his mount to gallop in the beast's direction. He hoped his eyes weren't deceiving him. He hoped it wasn't an illusion, a mirage. Because, he grimaced, it would be the last mistake he'd ever make.

O-o-O-o-O

The pharaoh was about to command his beloved Ka to attack again when he heard the sound of horse's hooves in the distant. He watched the oncoming horseman with a stoic expression, readying his Blue Eyes White Dragon for an attack should the person prove hostile. The unwelcomed interruption to his solitude made him purse his lips in displeasure and the ocean-hued eyes narrowing with disdain. He gave specific orders to be left in peace to train. It would take a very brave or foolish man to oppose it . . . unless it wasn't someone from the palace.

Holding the reins slack in hands, he waited impatiently as the mysterious rider neared. Seth, the current Pharaoh of Egypt, waits for no one. It took a lot of his self-control not to decimate the rider and horse there and then for encroaching on his personal time and space. Seething quietly, he remained where he was, his mount stamping peevishly at the ground. Its master was not the only one irritated with the outcome of events.

As the rider drew near, Seth discerned a figure in a white cloak that billowed out like a plume of white smoke; unconsciously he tightened his grip on the reins so that his knuckles bared white through the tanned skin. Curiosity was getting the better of him; the identity of the rider was still unknown since the face was half hidden beneath the hood and it was too far to see. But there was one thing he did notice though, it felt odd to Seth that the rider was sitting awkwardly . . . leaning heavily to one side as if . . .

Apprehension impelled Seth to nudge his horse towards the oncoming rider. The powerful animal happily responded and bolted towards the intended target enabling the distance between the two to lessen considerably. As Seth suspected, the rider eventually slipped off sideways and rolled on the dry ground for a few nbiw* before stopping face down in the dirt.

Extending out his hand, Seth had managed to grasp the reins of the rider-less horse as it passed and force it to stop. At first the stallion refused to comply, demonstrating its refusal by rearing up on its hind legs in an attempt to strike at its opponent. But it was no match for the seasoned horseman who dodged the attack and gained control in no time. After calming the animal, he led it to the motionless figure on the ground.

Nimbly alighting, he knelt beside the cloaked form and roughly turned it over. The person groaned in pain to the harsh treatment he inflicted. A quick glance at the bloodied body beneath the torn tunic and parted cloak revealed to Seth the gender of the person. It was male.

Pushing back the hood, the first thing that drew the pharaoh's attention was the crown of spiky tri-colour hair that sprung forth in all directions. And, as if sensing his presence, eyes briefly fluttered open to expose dull pools of red squinting at him through the onslaught of sunlight. Seth's gaze slid down to see cracked lips move slowly apart to utter two words. Soft as they were, the plea was unmistakeable.

"_Please . . . help._"

Then the youth passed out.

~TBC~

O-o-O-o-O

**Author's Notes**: So, Seth finally makes his debut. Hooray! I bet a lot of you were wondering if he was going to appear in this fic at all. Well, he is here at last and yes, I made him a pharaoh! Gawd, the Scandalshipper in me is screaming to be let out to play. Do you think I should give in to the temptation?

At last, the truth is revealed! Yay! Now, I don't have to be so secretive and worry I'll be giving away spoilers! Like I said at the beginning of this chapter, I hope it clears a few things up for you all. Kudos to ileader for guessing the identity of the abductor correctly, you are very perceptive. *bows*

Also, I would like to mention that this chapter is the _tamed_ version, meaning the actual non-con scene is omitted. I originally wrote the explicit version first, but decided against posting it in fear of upsetting readers. With that said, the explicit version highlights Hasan's hatred and hence explains his brutality towards his former charge. If there are readers *coughChibicough* interested in it, I will replace this chapter with explicit one on Friday, two weeks from now. If not, this chapter stays put and Chibi will have the other chapter all to herself.

Well, _Enslaved_ is reaching its second birthday soon and I would like to thank those who've been supporting it. The love and encouragement shown from everybody** who left their thoughts on this has been tremendous and awe-inspiring. It's what keeps the plunnies motivated and me, writing. Thank you so much and know your reviews are greatly appreciated. *hugs*

O-o-O-o-O

*One nbiw: Equivalent to 60cm.

** Special thanks those who R&R regularly—I have an exclusive surprise for you all when this fic is done.

* * *

><p><span><strong>And here's the sneak-peek for the next chapter. Enjoy<strong>**:**

_Wavering between sleep and consciousness, Atem's mind instantly froze to the sound of that voice. His stunned heart beating frantically like the wings of an agitated bird held against its will._

_That voice._

_That soft-spoken and gentle voice . . ._

_Mahado?_

* * *

><p>I am sorry it's short, but let's hope it'll whet your appetite for more. Thanks for reading.<p> 


	15. Chapter 15

_As usual, I apologise for the long absence. To make up for the neglect, this lengthy chapter will hopefully give you something to sink your teeth into. Please enjoy._

_**Warnings**__: Cussing and the usual 'blah' applies._

_**Disclaimer**__**: **__I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh!_

O-o-O-o-O

Diabound led Bakura and Malik to a deserted village. After stopping outside a dilapidated hut, it vanished. Bakura knew his Ka had tracked down the remaining fragments of its power. He felt the remnants of it lingering in the dry air.

Jumping off his mount, he hurriedly stepped through the open doorway; his eyes scanning the interior for the person he came for. The residue of Diabound's power was stronger inside; it embraced him like a long lost lover.

Absorbing the power, he expelled a contented sigh before taking a few cautious steps forward. It was then his eyes fell upon an unmade bed that stood out in the scant furnished room. The scent emitting from it drew him towards it. Bakura cursed himself for not noticing it before. His momentary distraction had prevented him from detecting the smell in the room when he entered.

_It reeked of blood and __sex__. _

Hurrying over to the bed, the thief's fear and anger increased when he saw what was smeared all over the rough covers.

_Blood_!

Dark patches of dried blood stained the dirty linen. Some were smudges and streaks whilst others pooled in a particular area. It was mixed with something else.

Bakura stiffened after inspecting it closely and, without warning, his fury manifested itself in the form of Diabound roaring his displeasure.

Malik flattened himself against the wall as he waited for Bakura's anger to deplete. He saw what was on the bed. He knew what befell the slut the moment Bakura realised it too and he quickly distanced himself away from his revered leader so he'd not get caught in the backlash. He would have openly gloated if it didn't risk drawing Bakura's fury to himself. Judging from Bakura's reaction, the culprit was going to suffer immensely for the offence. Having been on the receiving end of Bakura's rage, Malik knew there was going to be untold suffering. He wondered if Bakura was willing to share the torturing.

Bakura, with Diabound looming behind him, pulled off the bed cover and was clutching it in one balled fist. Turning his head, his eyes darted frenziedly around the room, stopping when it alighted on a crumbling wall. Walking towards it, he noticed there was a small splatter of blood coating the stone partition and on the fallen debris beneath it. He hoped the blood wasn't Atem's. Unfortunately, whomever it belonged to was no longer there, and it infuriated Bakura.

Slowly making his way to the door, Bakura contemplated on what to do next. This was the only lead he had of Atem, the link that connected Atem and Diabound had ended in this village. Asides searching the other buildings, there was little he could do. But it was worth trying if it meant finding the boy.

"Where are you going?" Malik's question stopped Bakura in his strides.

Bakura glanced at him with mild disinterest before looking away and continuing on his way again. The frown marring his face deepened as he hurried purposely on, the ever-faithful Diabound trailing behind him.

Resigning to the fact that Bakura wasn't going to answer him, Malik moved away from the wall to join his companion. However, after a long pause, the thief king said, "I am going to search the surrounding buildings for Atem. If you know what's good for you, I suggest you do not dissuade me—"

A sudden crack followed by a blinding white light prompted Bakura to go on the defensive with his Diabound. Standing in front of Bakura, the beast was able to protect its master sufficiently from the blast, but left Malik exposed. Luckily for Malik, the attack was aimed solely at Bakura so he was only caught in its repercussions. Even so, he was thrown off his feet and landed awkwardly on his side.

"_Malik_!" Once the attack faded, Bakura ran towards the fallen man, but paused when he heard a horse gallop away. Spinning on his heels, he ran outside to encounter another blast aimed his way. Again, Diabound appeared in front of him to counter it and keep his master safe, but Bakura knew it was nothing more than a smokescreen for the assailant to make its escape—a ploy to keep him distracted. In retaliation, Bakura commanded Diabound to counterattack, but it was too late for it to be effective. His quarry was moving too erratic and fast for him to get a direct hit.

"Shit," Bakura swore as he watched the rider disappear from the village on Malik's horse. The urge to jump on his horse and give chase was strong. Only the possibility of Atem being holed up in this village prevented him from doing so. The assailant escaped alone. Bakura gained consolation from that. Retracing his steps, he returned to the hut. He had Malik to tend to.

The other thief was sitting up with one hand clutching his bleeding side and a grimace on his face. For someone like Malik, who had an exceptionally high tolerance for pain, the wound must have been severe.

"What happened?" Malik hissed through his clenched teeth.

"He got away on your horse." Bakura replied dully. A brief glimpse of wide shoulders and a broad back was enough to affirm that. It made Bakura extremely uneasy about what happened in the room with Atem.

"So now what?"

"Now, I take care of your wound and then I am going to search for Atem."

On hearing those words, Malik pulled a face, but said nothing. He knew better than to incite Bakura's wrath with a snide remark, particularly when he's in an anxious and restless mood. If he had his way, the boy would never be found—or better yet, _found dead_. The turn of events certainly benefitted him and he wanted to laugh with joy, but he had to keep a passive face for the sake of appearances. Malik didn't want Bakura to think he had anything to do with the boy's disappearance.

After tearing the linen bed cover into several strips, Bakura lifted Malik's tunic to examine the wound. A small splinter of wood was embedded in Malik's side. Mercifully for Malik, the injury was not deep and Bakura was able to remove it with minimum effort. Taking a piece of the shredded rag, Bakura dabbed away the excess blood then tied the rest of the cloth around it. When it was done, Bakura stood up and peered down at Malik.

"Right, be good and lie still until I return. We will return to Kul Elna afterwards."

Malik said nothing but rolled onto his back and grunted an acknowledgement.

O-o-O-o-O

At dusk, two figures sharing a horse appeared at the entrance of Kul Elna. The animal was exhausted and its riders no less so. The journey had been agonisingly slow because of Malik's injury. Bakura did not want to risk reopening the wound by riding the horse hard. The chances of infection were high because he had nothing to clean it with. Already Malik was feverish, he could feel the heat from the other's body as it was pressed flushed against his.

A small crowd of men straggled around in the courtyard waiting for their leader's return. News of his sudden and uncharacteristic disappearance left them in a state of curiosity. Many speculated on what could have happened on the journey back to Kul Elna, but it wasn't until they heard the news about the boy's disappearance did they realise the two may have been connected. Bakura wasn't going to be thrilled when he returned—that is if he hadn't somehow found out already. The man possessed some uncanny intuitions.

As soon as the pair was spotted, the camp burst into a flurry of activity and Rishid was notified of their arrival. He came running out to meet them.

"Lord Bakura," Rishid greeted, his upper body bowed low at he waist. When he lifted his head, he began, "Atem—"

Bakura put up his hand to silence the man and then gestured for Rishid to take Malik before sliding off the horse himself. "Take care of Malik first. He is feverish from a wound on his side."

"What happened?" The large man held the semi-unconscious man cradled across his arms, the golden head resting on his chest.

"He fell on his side and a small splinter of wood pierced it. I have removed the splinter and taken care of the wound, but I suspect it's infected."

Rishid nodded as he took in the details. A quick glance over Malik's body he noticed a slight bit of spotting on the light-coloured tunic. Instinctively, he held Malik closer.

The gesture did not go unnoticed. "Once you've tended to Malik, I want you to report to me. I wish to hear your account of Atem's disappearance in private. I'll be in my chamber when you are done."

"Yes, my lord," Rishid murmured with a bow and was about to turn when Bakura spoke again. Rishid stood still and alert.

"Do not take your time, Rishid. My patience has exceeded its limits from the day's events. I do not wish to wait longer than need be to learn of the occurrences in my absence. Is that understood?"

"Yes, my lord," Rishid repeated and ending it with another bow. Carefully, he spun around and walked off, mindful of the burden he held in his arms.

Supressing the urge to sigh, Bakura called out to one of his men. "Take care of the mount," he instructed, handing him the reins. Then, spotting Naeem, he beckoned him over. "Come with me, you can assist with my bathing," he ordered.

With a bow, Naeem silently followed Bakura to a small recessed room with a sizeable slab of limestone in the corner and a large clay urn beside it. An empty copper jug was placed on the ground beside it. As Bakura began stripping off his travelled-stained garments, Naeem had momentarily disappeared and then reappeared clutching a small pot of swabu* and a large linen rag in his hands.

Swinging the rag over his shoulder, Naeem walked over to Bakura and waited for the man to settle. Discreetly, his eyes raked hungrily over the naked form.

Bakura knelt on the limestone and signalled for Naeem to proceed. The latter scooped a jug full of water from the urn and poured it over Bakura's head. Bakura scrubbed furiously at his hair with his fingers before holding out his hand with his palm faced up. Dutifully, Naeem spread a large amount of the swabu onto the upturned palm and watch Bakura work it into his hair and then his upper body afterwards. A delicate perfumed scent wafted deliciously around him. It was the same scent that would wreck havoc with his senses whenever he got close to the thief king.

When the hair and skin was completely covered, Bakura signalled again for the water.

Doing as he was told, Naeem repeatedly poured water over his master. He swallowed thickly as his eyes adhered to the rivulets of water trailing down the glistening torso. It was a privilege to wash his master. The task didn't usually fall with him, but _he_ was no longer here to carry it out. Hopefully, this wasn't going to be only task asked of him. He would gladly serve or indulge his master's every whim. He would gladly offer his services to his master should it be asked of him.

Oblivious to the other's wandering eyes and lewd thoughts, Bakura carried out the motions of bathing without paying much attention to his actions. His mind was too occupied with his thoughts of Atem.

After searching the village for most of the morning, he found no trace of his lover. The only thing he did discover, other than the struggle inside the hut, were drops of blood on a stone wall and on the ground around it. The animal excrements littered on the ground suggested there was a horse tethered near it. Since there were no horses in sight, and the assailant resorting to stealing one of theirs, he surmised that Atem had fled with the only mode of transport and thus leaving the other behind.

Bakura wasn't sure how he felt about the outcome.

On one hand, he was relieved Atem escaped, but on the other, it was frustrating that he had no idea where Atem went. Part of him wondered if the boy had purposely fled his clutches, but deep down inside he knew it wasn't the case. The boy was too noble for his own good. He cared too much for others. It was the reason why he is so easily manipulated.

Sighing aloud, Bakura stood up. Water splashed repeatedly on his waist and below. More swabu was placed in his hand and he set about rubbing it over the rest of his body.

If Atem was not running away from him then where could he have gone? Judging from the bloodstains, the boy was heavily wounded. Bakura tensed in anger when he recalled the bed cover. He had seen it enough times to know the light red substance was clearly blood mixed with another man's seed. He had been the cause of it on many occasions.

_Fuck_, he inwardly cursed. _Where the fuck are you, Atem?_

Without realising, he began fiercely scrubbing off the excess swabu, his anger evident in the rough act. After he was doused a few more times, Bakura squeezed out the water from his hair and held out his hand. A rag was silently placed in it and he, again, started rubbing furiously at his hair and body. The harsh action made his skin red; the rawness was clearly visible despite his dark tan. Once Bakura was dried, he threw the rag over his shoulders, and stepped off the limestone and slipped into his sandals. Without a word or backward glance at Naeem, he marched away.

Nudity was never an issue for Bakura, which was why he was comfortably walking about naked. Being forced to move from one location to another meant a decent wash was not always possible. Sometimes, a quick dunk in a river or lake was all that was available to them. One could not afford to be coy about stripping and being bare in front of others. Modesty had no place amongst the thieves. All his men had seen him naked before and he, them.

Of course, he would make one exception and one exception only. Atem in the nude was for his eyes only.

_Where are you, Atem?_

The murderous aura the King of Thieves released was enough to smother any leering from his men. Most observed him with hushed reverence knowing the forced tranquillity that enveloped them was, in fact, the calm before the storm. No one dared to celebrate the partial success of the raid in fear it would evoke his leader's displeasure. The missing boy and that perpetual scowl on Bakura's face abode bad news.

Arriving in his quarters, Bakura was pleased to see Rishid waiting for him.

"How is that idiot?" he asked, passing Rishid to get to the chest that contained his clothes. Opening it, he dug out a loincloth and donned it.

Rishid cast a small movement with his hands. "He is resting now." he said, "I cleaned the wound and gave him something to alleviate the pain and aid him sleep. That is all I can do for now. Hopefully, the fever will recede in a day or two."

Bakura nodded in reply before shouting, "Boy, bring me some wine." Depositing himself on a chair, he motioned Rishid to take a seat and waited for his beverage. Once again, Naeem appeared. This time he was bearing a jug of wine and a beaker. After pouring out the wine, Bakura waved the boy away. Naeem slipped away silently.

Bakura gulped down a few mouthful of wine before saying, "Tell me what happened to Atem."

Rishid shook his head in confusion and began to give an account of what he knew—which wasn't much. "Truthfully, I don't know what happened him," he sounded rueful. "Not long after you left, I went to look for him but found him gone. Everything he bought with him was still there. Nothing was touched. No sign of struggle. It was as if he had simply upped and left. The only thing that seemed suspicious to me was Atem's discarded robe." Rishid pointed to the red garment lying neatly on Bakura's bed. Bakura looked over to his bed and away again. His face was expressionless.

Refilling his beaker, the thief king took another swig of the wine, swirled it absently in his mouth and swallowed. Rishid's explanation did not ease his anxiety. Not only had Atem disappeared from Kul Elna and ended up in a deserted village nearly an iteru** away to the west, where he was subsequently assaulted, but it seems his disappearance was the doing of someone from the camp. That, or gods forbid, it was carried out by an outsider. If that was the case then he was faced with a bigger problem. Was the location of Kul Elna disclosed and his retreat compromised?

The more he thought about it, the more irate he became. He could feel the bubble of rage swell and surge forth once more. The possibility of his sanctuary—his kingdom—be made known was unthinkable, but it didn't lessen the threat it presented.

"_Don't let that one person undo everything you achieved . . ."_

Malik had warned him of the dangers Atem would pose. He, himself, knew the problems, the conflicts and the division it would cause, but he chose to stubbornly ignore it because . . .

Bakura mentally dispelled the impending sentiments with a shake of his head. He was too emotionally invested in the boy, but now was not the time to brood on them. Bakura was silently grateful for the distraction Rishid provided with his next question.

"Do you think Atem's disappearance was the direct result of a grudge?"

Bakura's face twisted into a contemptuous sneer and slammed down his beaker. "Most of the men in the village has a grudge against Atem," he spat out. "However, it's not difficult to narrow down the real culprits to a few . . . " Bakura drawled the words out slowly and watched Rishid's face pale beneath the dark skin. "In fact, from the top of my head, I can think of two. Kemnebi, for one, had reasons for hurting Atem . . . and of course, there's the prime candidate _Malik_." The loss of Atem made Bakura's accusation sound bitter and severe.

"Malik would never attempt harm Atem again. Not after the punishment he received three years ago."

"Yet it isn't beneath him to use others to carry out his dirty deeds," Bakura rejoined. "What makes you think he's not indirectly responsible for Atem's disappearance? In my eyes, the one who ordered it is no less guilty than the one who carried it out."

Rishid scrambled off his seat and knelt on the floor, his head bowed low. "I swear Malik had nothing to do with this, Lord Bakura," he implored. "Please believe me!"

Bakura looked at Rishid coldly, he would have reprimanded Rishid for allowing his emotions override his judgment had it not been hypocritical of him. All sense of rationality had fled as he withdrew from the confrontation with the hunters. And it was all because of Atem. Was it fair to be angry with Rishid because he wanted to protect and defend the one he loved?

Acting nonchalant, Bakura pounded a fist on the table and rose with a grunt. With his back turned to Rishid, his eyes fell upon Atem's robe and he said coldly, "Should Malik have anything to do with Atem's disappearance, however small or insignificant, the punishment he'll receive compared to last time will look like child's play. I will not be merciful, no matter who the culprit is."

Taking a step towards the bed, the thief king said, "Now leave. I wish to be alone."

Slowly, Rishid got up. After bowing one last time, he left. The swish of his robe and the soft shuffle of feet soon faded into silence.

Wearily, Bakura made his way to the bed. Sitting down on the edge, he picked up the robe and buried his face into it. Atem's scent lingered strongly within the folds, causing a pang of nostalgia to surface. He wanted Atem. He wanted him _now_! It was bad enough not knowing where he was, but to know he was injured and then not knowing how he was faring made Bakura insane with anxiety.

Thinking back to the confrontation in the village, it was obvious the man was a formidable opponent. The attack that was fired his way exuded power. One that far exceeded the hunters, with the exception of the old man and his Ka, Exodia.

The revelation raised a lot of questions. Just who was this man? And more importantly, whom was this man working with? A traitor in Kul Elna could mean death for them. Loyalty and trust was a trait the thieves shared with one another. Outcasts of society, they all knew how crucial it was that Kul Elna remained a secret. It was imperative for their survival that the village whereabouts was hidden.

It frustrated Bakura that the assailant got away and the blinding attack ensured he didn't get a good look at him either. It made capturing the man very difficult. The only option available to him now is to discover the traitor in Kul Elna and extract the information from him. That, and finding Atem was his priority now.

Bakura's fist tightened angrily around the red fabric it clutched. What kind of man was he if he was unable to protect his lover and keep him safe? He was the King of Thieves! No one should be able steal from him! _No one!_

"Boy!" Bakura bellowed.

Naeem entered the room and waited for his master's orders.

"I want you watch Malik carefully. Report any odd behaviour, no matter how trivial or meaningless it may seem, to me."

The youth accepted the order with a dip of his head.

"Also," Bakura continued, "Keep your eyes and ears open for anything out of the ordinary. I want you to inform me of any suspicious activities around the village, who leaves where or rumours about Atem. Do you understand?"

"Yes, my lord. Your wish is my command. I will carry out the task fully." Naeem's words were always quiet spoken. Befitting the child-like appearance, his voice was soft and almost melodic. Only his peers knew how deceiving the façade was. They knew how dangerous this unassuming youth could be.

Bakura gave the boy a curt nod of dismissal and turned away. He missed the wistful look on Naeem's face before he, too, turned and left.

With his rival gone and the other under suspicion, there was nothing to stand in Naeem's way now. He will be the one his lord and master will turn to when he needs sexual fulfilment. He will be the one to warm the King of Thieves' bed. Hasan got his wish . . . and soon, he will be getting his.

O-o-O-o-O

"At the moment, he is still unconscious, but his body needs nourishment to heal properly. I will be forced to wake him soon."

A female's voice seemed to penetrate Atem's awareness. It was light and filled with warmth, reminding him of an evening breeze. He vaguely felt his body roll onto his side and a damp cloth dabbing his back. A dry cloth followed after. Finally, Atem felt a gentle hand administering salve on his back. The medicine was soothing and it gave relief to the throbbing pain. The pain in his rear was worse, but he tried to ignore it. Giving in to the treatment, Atem was ready to doze off again.

"Since you are present, you might as well make yourself useful. Here," the focus of the voice changed directions. "I need you to apply this ointment around and inside the buttocks. There was a lot of internal tearing, it needs to be treated."

A humorous snort could be heard somewhere behind the woman and a cheery voice replied, "I am here on the orders of the pharaoh, Isis, not as your personal slave. Why don't you let . . ." there was a thoughtful pause, "Ebo, I think his name was, take care of it like last time?"

Wavering between sleep and consciousness, Atem's mind instantly froze to the sound of that voice. His stunned heart beating frantically like the wings of an agitated bird held against its will.

That voice.

That soft-spoken and gentle voice . . .

_Mahado?_

The voice was so similar . . . so welcoming and aching familiar. Should he pretend to be unconscious so he could continue to listen to his loved one's pretender? Or should he satisfy his curiosity and turn around to look at the man?

"As much as I am fond of you, Mahado, you can be an impudent brat when you—" Isis' ranting halted when the invalid shot up and spun around. She caught the wince of pain on the boy's pale face due to the sudden movement and, she was sure, sitting on his wounds did not help either. However, the pained expression quickly vanished and in its place was a look of surprise. Or rather, shock.

Wide crimson eyes stared at her companion, the small body trembling in its stunned state. Isis mistook it for fear. The boy had, after all, suffered immense trauma in the hands of a male assailant. It was understandable that he wouldn't want another male near him, let alone touch him.

"Don't be afraid," Isis assured kindly. "I am Isis and this," she gestured to her companion, "is Mahado. We are not going to hurt you. You are in safe now."

Turning around, Isis looked at her companion.

Peeling his eyes away from the boy, Mahado cocked a questioning brow at Isis. With a small shake of her head, Isis implored silently for him to stay away. Mahado nodded and withdrew into the shadows. Leaning stiffly against the wall, he watched Isis refocus her attention on the boy again. Sadly, the boy's attention was not on her. Instead, he felt those crimson eyes boring into him. It felt strange to feel the heavy gaze of such mesmerising eyes. Eyes that reminded him of . . .

Mahado barely managed to curb the urge to slip his hand into his side pouch and caress the garnet nestled within. Confronted with the vibrant hue of those eyes, Mahado could see his purchase paled in comparison. Even as a substitute, it was a poor one.

"What is your name?" Isis coaxed. She was sitting on the bed, concern engraved on her noble features. The boy neither looked at her nor answered. He continued to stare at the hunter situated across the room. The ensuing enquiries were met with failure. The boy was unresponsive.

Sensing his presence was hindering progress; Mahado pushed himself off the wall and said, "Isis, I will inform the pharaoh that the boy is awake." And with a final glance at the figure on the bed, Mahado left without waiting for a reply.

Atem stared at the spot the male was last seen, his sinking heart thumping violently in his chest, and those departing words ringing loudly in his ears. He was confused. The man who _looked_ like and _sounded_ like Mahado referred him as "the boy". He couldn't be Mahado, right? Mahado never called him anything other than "Atem" or "young master". He couldn't be Mahado . . . _right_?

Atem felt the remainder of his heart crack and split open, and his hopes dashed. His eyes hurt from staring too intensely. It stung from the tears that gathered in them, making his vision watery and blurry.

"Do you wish to talk?"

Atem finally tore his eyes away from the doorway to look at the woman. He felt a tear escape and slide slowly down his face. He made no attempt to wipe it away.

"Are you in pain?"

Atem blinked and felt more tears trickle down, leaving two wet salty tracks on his cheeks.

"Are you in pain?" The question was repeated; the woman was worried. "Where is it hurting? I can treat it if you tell me."

Plagued with grief, bitterness and contempt, Atem pursed his lips into a stubborn tight line. What did the woman know about pain? How could he be expected to admit that it was his heart that was hurting? He was hurting from the rejection, from the fact that he was reduced to being a mere "_boy_" by the man he valued above his life. He was sure this man was _his_ Mahado, but at the same time, _it wasn't_.

"Would you like to rest?"

Ignoring the question, Atem turned his back on the woman and lay back down on the bed. His rudeness provoked a sigh of resignation from the woman, but in his pitiful state, Atem couldn't care less.

Bending his knees and bringing them up to his chest, he curled himself into a ball and thought back to the man he thought was long dead. Bakura wasn't lying when he said he ordered Mahado's release. All those years, Atem had wrongfully accused him of murdering his beloved, a transgression he never forgave the thief for. And now, seeing Mahado had survived, Atem knew his sacrifice had not been in vain.

_So why wasn't he rejoicing that Mahado was alive and well? Why did it feel like this revelation was crushing his hopes and breaking his heart? _

Swiftly, Atem's mood spiralled into despair. Sorrow dampening the joy that should have resulted from the knowledge that Mahado still lived.

_Had Mahado forgotten him? _

Deep inside, Atem knew the answer. Did he not tell Mahado to forget about him and move on? Isn't this what he wished for?

It wasn't hard to believe that Rishid's concoction had something to do with the oblivious Mahado he had just encountered. It wasn't hard to convince himself that the damage sustained was for the best. If Mahado was happy in his new way of life, who was he to remind him of his past and ruin it? Furthermore, some things were best forgotten. Humiliation and shame seared through Atem when he recalled the last time Mahado laid eyes on him.

It was the time he was being violated by Bakura.

_No, Mahado will never need to remember. It is for the best. _

Still, he reminded himself, it didn't make it less painful. And it didn't stop his tears from flowing and soaking the bed beneath.

O-o-O-o-O

Isis watched the boy turn his back on her, hostility rolling off the subdued form in waves. Sighing quietly, she gathered her supplies and rose from the bed. It was clear the boy wasn't in the mood to talk, but he may be more inclined to do so when the pharaoh arrives. She hoped for his sake that he'd be more compliant.

Placing the jars of ointment and the rags on the table, Isis sat down on the chair next to it and began absently organising the vials and jars. The boy was badly injured when she was summoned by the pharaoh to his bedside. He was fortunate he was unconscious for two days or he would be in agony.

Dehydration and sunburn were the lesser problems compared to what was inflicted internally and externally on him. It took her and another healer, Ebo, a good part of the day to cleanse and tend those wounds. The hand-shaped bruise around the boy's neck, the multiple bite marks and bloodied scratches littered over the torso, neck and thighs, and the injury in and around the buttocks pointed to rape and abuse. The brutality appalled her.

Glancing over to the reclined figure, her eyes drifted to the bandaged arm and shoulder. What puzzled her the most was the bleeding mass on that part of the boy's body. There was no indication of a stab, cut or the like. The injury seemed to have bled outwards, the cause unknown.

Isis sighed again and shook her head to dispel further morbid thoughts from her mind. Such tragic occurrences were not uncommon, however, fainting in front of the pharaoh was. The boy was lucky the pharaoh had found him or he would have surely died.

Isis allowed herself a small smile. Yes, the boy was very lucky indeed.

O-o-O-o-O

"So, you mean to tell me that he hasn't spoken a word since he woke?"

Hushed voices drew Atem from his fitfully slumber and he was grateful for it. The nightmare he had concerning Mahado made him glad to be awake.

"That is correct, my pharaoh."

Ignoring what said, Atem went rigid at the voice. He recognised it! It was that woman's voice!

"Yet, I know for a fact that he isn't a mute." The other voice—a man's voice, deep and low—sounded perplexed.

"It may have been because he overheard me asking Mahado to treat his wounds." Atem eyes widened at the name. "I think the thought of being handled by another man scared him. It had profound effects on the boy, he panicked and kept staring at Mahado as though in fear."

The man hummed a response and shifted. Atem could hear the soft swish of fabric approach him. Then a dark shadow fell over him, but he remained still, feigning unconsciousness. He tried not to flinch when he felt the weight of the other's scrutinising gaze on his back.

Silence ensued and then "Wake the boy," the man demanded.

This time Atem _did_ flinch. The authority in those words reminded Atem of Bakura. This was a man people obeyed.

Immediately, a hand rested on his shoulder and shook it gently. Unable to feign to sleep any longer, Atem pretended to stir from his slumber. His movements were slow and lethargic. Rubbing his eyes sleepily, he felt the hand withdraw allowing him to move. Giving a long stretch, he turned around to glower at the intruders.

Instantly, his eyes fell on Mahado, who was lurking in the back. Unlike the previous visit, his posture was rigid and his behaviour, attentive. Those warm brown eyes Atem loved so much darted from each person in a state of alertness.

Atem would have been content to stare at Mahado had the other man not stepped closer to the bed and invade his line of vision. It dragged his attention from one male to another.

Atem gasped aloud when he recognised the man who saved him. He was tall like Mahado with broad shoulders, handsome features and piercing blue eyes. The woman referred the man as "Pharaoh". The regal and striking male before him was every bit majestic and impressive. One could not doubt that this was the most powerful man in the kingdom.

Confronted with his master's worse enemy, Atem cursed his bad luck.

"What is your name, boy?" Unlike Mahado's gentler tones or Bakura's domineering ones, the voice was confident and assertive.

Atem's eyes lingered on Mahado briefly before sliding back to the pharaoh. He knew what he must do to protect Mahado. If it meant withholding information about Bakura and hiding his true identity, so be it. Ultimately, he was nothing but a whore . . . a pet . . . kept for someone's amusement. He had no right to mar another with his taint—not when said person meant the world to him. Since Mahado didn't remember him, it was for the best. He no longer existed in Mahado's life. So, for his beloved, 'Atem' should be no more. It made the ensuing humiliation hurt a little less.

_This is my final gift to you, Mahado. Please forgive me for deceiving you_.

Shrugging delicately, Atem said, "I have no name since I am a pleasure slave, sir." Pretending he hadn't overheard the conversation prior to his 'waking', Atem feigned ignorance to the other's status. As a result, he heard the other two inhale sharply. Whether their reaction was from his comment or from his insolence, Atem wasn't sure. "But, people call me 'Princess' and that is what I am known as."

The pharaoh narrowed his eyes at him, his expression grim.

"So, care to tell me how a simple pleasure slave possess something like _this_?" Seth held up the gold armlet with the ruby inserts. The dragon design matched the one he was wearing; only his was forged from platinum. It also had sapphires insets for eyes.

Without thinking, Atem reached for the armlet on his arm and found nothing there!

_Fuck_, he cursed inwardly, eyeing his armlet. The item was pilfered on one of Bakura's raid. How was he supposed to explain how it ended in his possession?

Seth observed the boy mentally scramble for an excuse. Although at the time of the theft, he was livid that the accompanying piece to his armlet was stolen, but seeing the boy, he understood why it was taken and gifted to him. Even though the rubies were the finest in the land, it could not match those living gems that adorned the boy's face.

Leaning down, the pharaoh noted the twitch of those lean fingers as he grabbed the boy's hand and slid the armlet on the uninjured arm, stopping on top of the pale skin that outlined the missing ornament. It gave him a perverse sense of satisfaction to know that another, like him, was equally deserving of the trinket. Kisara, his queen, would not begrudge the boy of the stolen wedding gift. Not when it was so obviously ill-suited for her. Seth was certain the armlet was intended for the boy when it was taken. Who was he to deny such well-meant intentions, no matter how felonious it was?

Once the ornament was reunited with its owner, Seth released the hand and fixed the boy a look of expectancy. Arching one slender brow, he waited for his answer.

Tilting his chin up, Atem looked the pharaoh in the eye and said cockily, "It was rewarded to me for being a good lay." It wasn't far from the truth.

Seth's face darkened at the taunt. "Leave us," he ordered his two subjects.

Mahado took a step forward to remonstrate. "But, my ph—"

"_Leave_!" The command quelled the other's approach and protest. Without uttering another word, the hunters bowed and shuffled out.

When the door closed, Seth sat down on the bed and faced Atem. The fury radiating from the imposing ruler pervaded the small room, making the air thick with tension.

Angry blue eyes locked onto red.

Through instincts, Atem clambered back, his eyes never leaving the pharaoh's face. He knew he had angered the man with his answer. The latter's body language was not dissimilar to a peeved King of Thieves. It didn't surprise Atem at all when a hand grabbed his jaw and held it in a firm grip.

"First of all," Seth gritted out, "you will respectfully address me as 'Pharaoh'. Do you understand?"

Slowly, Atem gave a silent nod.

"Good. Secondly, I have very little tolerance for liars. Those who refuse to answer truthfully will be severely punished. Is that clear?"

Another nod.

A slow smirk spread across Seth's face as he released Atem, the trailing hand patted a pale cheek haughtily. "Now, let's try again, shall we?"

This time, Atem replied with, "Yes, my pharaoh." His jaw ached from the pressure that was applied on his flesh and bone.

"Now, _Princess_," the sneer was noticeable in the demanding voice, "tell me how you got this armlet?"

"I . . ." Atem trailed off and swallowed to wet his dry throat. It still hurt from over-use and his voice sounded scratchy and hoarse to his ears. "It was a gift from my master, my pharaoh."

Seth ceded a small smirk in anticipation of the answer. "Oh, and who is your master, Princess?"

Atem licked his lips before daring a reply. What would the consequences be if he disclosed the identity of his master? Would he be free of the man's hold on him if he did and the innocent lives that the man threatened too? And what would become of him should he regain his freedom? How would he fare alone?

This time red eyes locked onto blue.

"My master is . . . _Akefia_."

**~TBC~**

O-o-O-o-O

**Author's Notes**: Methinks, Atem is a closet masochist, what do you think? He is asking for a world of pain by lying through his teeth. I hardly think he'd be able to pull wool over the pharaoh's eyes that easily . . . but then again, you never know. It'll be interesting to see how Seth will react to the identity of the "master".

Anyho, I am terribly sorry for the tardiness of this chapter. I struggled on the last part of this chapter for a long time, changing the scene/dialogue umpteen times. Still, I am not entirely happy about it and I feel that what I've done will bite me on the butt _big time_ later on, but I don't want to keep procrastinating/changing/worrying over it anymore. Heavens know when I'll be posting this if I wait for the right scenario to spawn. With that said, it doesn't change the overall plot—just the relationship with Atem and Seth since I am still agonising over the pair.

Despite my anxiety, I hope you enjoyed the chapter and, as always, I look forward to your thoughts on it.

* * *

><p><span><strong>And finally, last but not least, here's a sneak peek of what's to come, subject to changes, of course. However, please enjoy the little teaser:<strong>

_"And what would you do you suggest I do? Where would I go?" Atem asked wistfully, his eyes staring distractedly into the distance. Oblivious to the attention the other was giving him._

"_You could always stay here within the palace . . . with me."_

_On hearing the answer, Atem turned and scowled at his companion with mock outrage. "And be part of your harem?" he retorted sarcastically. "Isn't that like running away from the rain and into the storm?"_

_Seth chuckled and took a step closer to the indignant male. Reaching out with his hands, his fingers gently brushed up and down the other's thin arms, enjoying the way the skin prickled beneath his touch. "Depends on which you think is the lesser evil," he murmured seductively. _

_Releasing a small sigh, Atem turned around and looked into the distance once more. However tempting the pharaoh's offer was, he knew it was impossible to reside in the palace, not with Mahado so close to him. After witnessing Mahado and Isis together, he almost wished for Bakura to take him away—away from their proximity. _

Bakura_, his mind whispered. _

_Some place far from the pensive captive, the thief king smiled in reply. "Soon, my princess. Soon . . ."_

* * *

><p>*Swabu (<em>natron<em>): a paste containing ash or clay used as soap, which is usually scented and could lather into soap-like properties. It can also be used for treating skin ailments too.

**Iteru = 10.5KM.


	16. Chapter 16

_My humble apologies for the tardy update, real life got in the way and grounded all works to a halt. I hope you can forgive me and enjoy this chapter._

_**Warnings**__: Except for the usual blah, nothing comes to mind._

_**Disclaimer**__**: **__I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh!_

O-o-O-o-O

Atem licked his lips before daring a reply. What would the consequences be if he disclosed the identity of his master? Would he be free of the man's hold on him if he did and the innocent lives that the man threatened too? And what would become of him should he regain his freedom? How would he fare alone?

This time red eyes locked onto blue.

"My master is . . . _Akefia_."

Immediately, Seth was upon him. The hand was once more on him, only this time it was wrapped around his throat. Atem cried out as fingers pressed on the bruise around his neck. The pressure was not deadly as Hasan's, but it served to hurt nonetheless. Struggling with laboured breaths, he tried to pry the fingers off. It caused the grip to tighten.

Glaring at the gasping male, the pharaoh snarled, "I expect you to show your gratitude with humble sincerity, not repay me with impudence and lies! It'll be a pity to have you destroyed when I was the one who saved you."

Atem felt the fringes of unconsciousness steal upon him, blackening his vision and numbing his mind. Blissfully, he sunk into the abyss of oblivion—grateful he was able to avoid the pharaoh's interrogation for a little while longer.

Sensing the body beneath his hands go limp, Seth roughly released his captive with a disgruntled huff. The sullen expression he wore manifesting his displeasure.

"_Isis_!"

The female hunter immediately appeared by the pharaoh's side, kneeling on the ground with head bowed low. "My pharaoh, what are your orders?"

Rising from the bed and taking a step back, Seth jerked a chin in the unconscious male's direction and said, "Tend to the boy. He's collapsed again."

Replying, "Yes, my pharaoh," Isis quickly got up and sat on the bed. Gentle hands trailed to the boy's neck, hovering over the beating pulse. It was weak. Removing her hand from the reddened flesh, which she eyed critically, Isis placed it on the boy's temple. It felt warm beneath her touch.

"He's still very weak and not fully recovered," Isis supplied, looking at the towering ruler before her. "It's no wonder he's collapsed again." There was a hint of reproach in the statement.

Seth glared at the healer, nostrils flaring slightly from indignation and his lips set into a grim line. He challenged her to continue.

Isis, sensing her pharaoh's ire, bowed her head in silence. Not daring to anger her liege more than she had.

Satisfied with the reprimand, Seth said, "I expect you to nurse him back to full health quickly. He and I have unfinished business to take care of."

Without waiting for a reply, knowing full well Isis understood his demand; Seth spun on his heel and stormed out of the room. He was adamant he would get his answers when the boy woke. He'll make sure of it!

Isis watched the stately figure leave the room, sighing in relief when the tension disappeared with the pharaoh's oppressive presence.

Turning her attention back to the invalid, she got up and made her way to the basin of water on the table and wrung out the cloth within. Taking it back to the boy, she dabbed his forehead and face with it, ensuring the damp cloth cooled the heated skin. A soft swish of cloth was heard behind her, but Isis did not pause in her ministrations. She knew who it was. Mahado was light on his feet. His stealth was renowned amongst the hunters and royal guards.

"How is he?" The words were spoken quietly, as if the speaker was fearful of waking the sleeper.

"He is still weak from the injuries and the pharaoh's presence was rather _overwhelming_ for him. His majesty has ordered me to nurse him back to full health. A task not easily accomplish if he continues to aggravate the sick."

Mahado nodded a response despite his companion could not see it. Although Isis had yet to face him, he could tell she was unhappy. The tightness in her voice revealed her discontent. He walked over to his exasperated lover and placed a hand on her shoulder.

"The pharaoh can be demanding sometimes. I am sorry he was harsh on you."

Isis shook her dark head. "Don't be sorry, Mahado," she said bitterly. "The apology is not for you to make."

The hand gave the shoulder a sympathetic squeeze. "Still, I know you it's been hard on you, tending both the queen and the boy."

The slender shoulders slumped in resignation. "I am doing what is expected of me," Isis sighed, getting up and turning to face Mahado. The latter's hand on her shoulder shifted accordingly. "It's nothing that I cannot handle and you know it."

Long fingers trailed up from the shoulder to the frowning face. A thumb gently stroking the dark circles that formed there. Tired blue eyes met his gaze and the reassuring smile Isis wore looked strained.

"You're exhausted," Mahado stated bluntly. Pulling Isis towards him so her face rested on his chest, he peered briefly at the unconscious figure over the top of her head and said, "The boy is fine for now and there is little you can do for him. Why don't you head back to your quarters and rest a little. I will send someone to inform you when he wakes."

The male hunter felt the other shake her head. "Isis," he chided gently as he enfolded his arms her and held her close. He felt Isis returned his embrace with one hand. The other still held the damp cloth. "You will be little use to anyone in your current state. It'll be more troublesome if you collapse from fatigue."

"I . . . " Isis was about to protest when Mahado pulled back and glowered at her. "Fine," she feebly conceded. Pushing away, Isis held out the rag for the other to take. "Here, take this. He has a slight fever so ensure he is kept cool with this."

Taking the proffered cloth, Mahado planted a small kiss on Isis' temple and then playfully pushed her away. "Now, go. I promise to watch over him and fetch you as soon as he wakes."

For a moment, Isis looked torn, but eventually nodded and left.

With his eyes glued to her retreating form, Mahado watched Isis leave, a fond smile curving his lips. Once she disappeared completely, the hunter strode over to the table and dropped the cloth in the water. Wringing it out, he approached the boy on the bed.

Sitting on the edge, he brushed a few damp tendrils of hair and pressed the wet cloth on the flushed skin. The task gave him the chance to study the other's face closely.

Under the sunburn, Mahado could discern the boy's delicate features. The nose was straight and slightly tilted at the end, and the cheekbones were high and finely sculpted. By conventional standard, the boy wasn't considered handsome—not like the pharaoh—but nonetheless, he possessed a beauty that was striking, even when those vivid eyes were hidden from the world.

Mahado grimaced when another thought hit him. With a face like that, the boy must have been a popular pleasure slave. The revelation caused his fingers to involuntarily tightened around the cloth, his disgust leaving a sour taste in his mouth.

On the numerous occasions he was present when Isis and her helper were tending to the invalid, the blood soaked linen they discarded was shocking. He wasn't privy to all of the boy's injuries, but from what he could see and later learned, appalled him. Although it wasn't uncommon for pleasure slaves to suffer abuse, Mahado knew the injuries the boy sustained were particularly horrendous. What madman would do such a thing, he wondered?

Eyes laden with pity rested on the bruised neck. With his other hand, Mahado traced his fingers lightly across the discoloured skin. Despite the swelling, it was warm and smooth beneath his touch.

Expelling a deep sigh, Mahado withdrew his hands from the boy and got up. Placing the cloth back into the basin, Mahado grabbed the only chair in the room and placed it near the wall opposite the bed. There he sat, with his back against the wall, looking at the resting form and watching the gentle rise and fall of the other's chest. Somehow, the vague sense of familiarity disturbed him greatly.

He got a nagging feeling that he'd done something similar before.

O-o-O-o-O

It was daytime when Atem woke. Sunlight streaked through the window prompting Atem to shield his eyes from the brightness with his hands. A sleepy whine revealed his discomfort and alerting another of his consciousness.

"How are you feeling?"

The well-loved voice jolted Atem from his lethargic state and his eyes immediately seeking out the speaker, resting on the relaxed form of his beloved. He sat up slowly, his aching body protesting to the movements.

"I—" A cough wracked Atem's parched and sore throat. "Wa . . .ter . . ." he croaked.

Swiftly getting up, Mahado complied. Soon, Atem felt the rim of a beaker pressed against his chapped lips and the vessel tipped slightly upwards to allow the contents to dribble slowly into his dry throat. Atem drank greedily, emitting a satisfied gasp when he finished.

"Better?" The beaker was removed and returned to the table. Mahado stood where he was, watching the invalid closely and waiting for a reply.

Atem looked at him and nodded an answer.

"Good, I'll go and inform Isis that you're awake. She'll need to tend to your injuries." The hunter turned to leave.

"Wait!" Atem's arm involuntarily shot out in a desperate attempt to halt the departing man.

Mahado stopped and turned around, a brow arched in expectancy, urging the other to continue.

Atem's brows furrowed together as he fought for an excuse to detain the other, he said the first thing that came to mind. "Do you have family, Mahado?"

The personal nature of the question surprised Mahado. Confused, he tried to interpret the boy's intentions. Was the boy asking because he wants to know what it's like to belong to a family? Or did he want to know about him in particular? Mahado could only provide a truthful answer.

"Sadly, I have no memories of my family, friends . . . or much of my life prior to three years ago," he confessed. "However, Isis, Lord Shimon and my fellow hunters have more than made up for the loss and they are my family now. I am content for it to remain so. Why do you ask?"

Atem bit the inside of his mouth and swallowed thickly. He paused to allow the sorrow the reply evoked to subside before he trusted himself to speak. "Just curious," he replied with a small shake of his head.

Mahado looked at the boy long and hard before humming a response. Then he said, "I will fetch Isis now. We shan't be long in returning."

This time, when Mahado turned to go, Atem did not detain him. The door shut and a lock grated into place. Atem was held captive once more.

Silence enveloped the room, wrapping around him like a burial shroud. Mahado's statement hurt him so much, the words cut him deeper than he was thought possible. He was lucky he had cried himself dry or the tears of grief would flow for an eternity. He now knew for sure Mahado had truly forgotten him. The admission was evidence enough.

Pushing aside the covers, he slid to the edge of the bed and swung his legs off it. Slowly, he stood up. A sharp pain shot up his lower back, forcing a hiss through his clenched teeth. Cursing his misfortunes and the man responsible for it, Atem shakily shuffled his way to the window, trying his best to ignore the pain with each step he took. The desire to see more of his surroundings preceded all else. As a child, he was curious about the pharaoh's palace. Tales of grandeur and splendour would leave him wide-eyed and enthralled. He wanted to witness the sight himself.

Looking out of the narrow window, Atem realised he was situated on the upper floor of a building and outside, below him, was a garden abundant with brightly coloured flowers and exotic trees swaying lightly in the breeze. Closing his eyes, he breathed in the lush haven's sweet scent, the smell invoking the memory of his garden at home.

It was the same garden he saw Hasan and the maid copulating in. The result from that unfortunate incident was what sparked off the subsequent tragedy.

Eyes flying open, the memory sent Atem reeling. He grabbed the wooden edges of the window to steady himself.

Anger, hatred and guilt flooded him. The aftermath of that event acted as the catalyst for the death and doom he brought upon his loved ones. Could he blame anyone else but himself?

Unconsciously, he wrapped his arms around himself in a protective stance and his fingers brushed upon his armlet and his linen bound arm. Both were the symbols of his enslavement to the thief king.

_Bakura_.

Looking down at his bandaged arm and shoulder, Atem lifted a little of the linen away and took a peek inside. What little he could see made him grimace. The once finely detailed tattoo was now a crusty messy. Dried blood stuck to the outline of the image distorting it beyond recognition. Atem was relieved that Bakura's precious Diabound was presently a red mass on his skin. However, once it healed and the scab removed, it would be a different matter. Atem hoped he would be gone by the time it happens. No doubt, the shrewd pharaoh would have realised what it was, which meant the _real_ identity of his master would be exposed.

Atem sighed. It was a pity the "Akefia" ruse did not work on his captor. Atem had hoped the random name would provide a satisfactory response, but the pharaoh was not fooled. He will be more persistent in their next encounter and that did not abide well for Atem. The outcome could be disastrous for him.

Panic began to rise and crawl its way up Atem's chest . . . it was abruptly severed by the sound of carefree laughter drifting into his ears. Leaning out, he searched for its owner.

Flashes of swirling white caught his gaze. It looked out of place amidst the multitude colours. Two figures threaded through the trees in, what appeared to be, a playful manner. Both were recognisable from the clothing and the hair. The taller figure with brown hair was chasing a shorter one with a crown of raven. The pursuit ended when the raven-haired woman stopped and leaned against the tree, her demeanour coquettish as she turned and faced her companion. Another laugh filled the air as the male leaned down and said something in her ear before pressing his lips against hers. The kiss was over as swiftly as it happened, but it didn't lessen Atem's shock.

Bitterness, jealousy and resentment raged inside of him as he turned away from the window. The enjoyment he derived from the wondrous sight and smell was obliterated by a single incident. He hated the way fate saw fit to taunt him again with the sight of the person he loved being intimate with another. He hated how he was destined to watch others obtain what he couldn't have.

If anything, Atem was determined more than ever to get away from the palace and its residents.

He didn't belong here.

He belonged in Kul Elna, to Bakura and he was the _Princess_, Bakura's whore.

Steeling himself for the couple's arrival, Atem took a few deep breaths and concealed his hurt and shock behind a mask he wore with familiarity. By the time Mahado and Isis appeared in the room, it was the _Princess_ who greeted them. The vulnerability and fragility that he displayed earlier was gone and was replaced with hostility and a hint of coolness. He sat there with a surly expression and his voice was icy as he said, "Release me. I wished to leave."

The _Princess'_ demand was curt and terse.

Suffice to say, the pharaoh's presence was request.

O-o-O-o-O

The pharaoh stormed into the room in a flurry of blue linen and bad temper. He was closely followed by Mahado who had been sent to fetch him. The former was furious.

Ignoring the male on the bed, he turned to the kneeling Isis and fumed, "What is the meaning of this?"

Isis shook her head in reply. "He refuses to allow us to tend to his wounds and demands we release him."

Seth glared at the boy who tilted his chin in an act of defiance. Blue eyes narrowed at the insolence, but chose to ignore the transgression . . . _for the time being_.

"What is this nonsense you speak of?" the pharaoh barked. This time, Seth addressed the boy directly.

"I wish to leave."

"And who do you think you are to make such demands? What will you do if I chose not to free you, and instead stake my claim on you?"

"You cannot stake your claim on something that's been claimed already."

Seth smiled deviously. Reaching out with his hand, he touched the other's armlet, caressing the gold, scaly body of the dragon with a long digit before sliding it across the chest and resting on the bandaged arm and shoulder. Splaying out his fingers on the bound flesh, he squeezed it.

Atem shuddered at the all-knowingly look the pharaoh gave. His apprehension grew when the pharaoh, without looking at the hunters, instructed them to leave.

Atem's gaze darted towards the departing male. He eyed Mahado like a thirsty man eyeing a trickle of water.

"You know Mahado, don't you?" Seth's eyes thinned to slits as he observed the boy's face. The slight widening of the eyes that exhibited surprise and the pursing of the lips betrayed the owner's secret. It confirmed what he suspected all along. Feeling generous, he decided to impart the boy with a little information.

"Isis' pet was discovered in a deserted village abandoned by a certain thief and his band of vermin a little over three years ago. My hunters brought him back and nursed him to health again. After that, he pledged his life to me. Isis adopted him and he thrived under Shimon's guidance. He became a full-pledged hunter a year ago."

Atem nodded his head unconsciously, his expression softening. "He says he has no memories of his past . . . no recollection of family and friends."

"None except one called 'Atem'," the pharaoh added boldly, watching the boy closely.

Gasping aloud, all colour drained from Atem's face. He went rigid at the mention of his name passing through the lips of his master's enemy. He cursed the reaction of his body and knew the pharaoh picked up on it. Those shrewd eyes missed nothing.

"Are you familiar with the name?"

Atem shook his head and the pharaoh's grip on his shoulder tightened.

"Again, you lie! You body betrays you."

"You know nothing!"

Seth laughed; the mirth mocked the boy's ignorance.

_I know you know Mahado because _you_ were there with him at the camp before he was abandoned. I know your master is none other than Bakura, the scourge to my established order. I know said scum was the one who gave you this armlet and I know you are stained with his brand on your arm. What I _don't know_ is how you've managed to escape his clutches. The menace would never have willingly let you go with such discriminating evidence on your person, let alone allow you to _live_._

Even if the boy refused to disclose the identity of his master, Seth knew who he was and he did no appreciate the ploy to deceive him. Bemused, Seth wondered why the boy went to great lengths to protect his master. Why he would risk lying to the most powerful man in the kingdom to protect one worthless thief. What kind of power did that savage have over this youth?

As curious as Seth was, he held his tongue. He needed to the boy here in the palace. He was the bait for his prey. After years of the filth's taunting and eluding his hunters, Seth had finally found a possible weakness for the thief and there was no way he was going to let the opportunity slip away. He was going to lure the thief to him and his hunters. And should he be wrong about the thief and the boy then his claim to the boy would be unchallenged. Regardless of the outcome, both were advantageous for him . . . unless the thief escapes with the boy. Now that would be unthinkable.

Looking at the battered boy with the bold eyes, Seth decided to play for time.

"Tell me how you got into this state and I'll consider your request," Seth offered. Blazing crimson narrowed suspiciously at him and Seth stared back in return. "Did your _master_ do this to you?"

"No. My master is never this rough. He is . . . kinder."

"Then who did this to you?" Seth demanded.

Atem pondered on how answer the question. Revealing Hasan's identity could lead to complications. What if the pharaoh decided to investigate the case and find out about Hasan's past and link it with Mahado and his? It could lead to the discovery of Bakura's raid to his home as well. Should that happen, everything he's been trying to protect would be wasted.

Atem couldn't risk it!

Looking away, Atem said, "I don't know. I don't know the man who did this to me."

Seth snorted his disbelief. "You are lying again."

"I am not!"

"Yes, you are!"

"No. I. Am. _Not_!"

"Yes. You. Are!"

"I am not! Why won't you drop the matter? Besides, it's none of your business!"

"Atem!"

"_What_?!"

A peeved Atem yelled out the retort. It was then realisation dawned on him. He immediately clapped his hands over his mouth, but it was too late. The sheer look of horror on his face condemned him further and made matters worse. In an attempt to increase the distance between himself and the advancing man, he scuttled to the furthest side of the bed.

Seth took a step closer to the wary boy, wearing a predatory grin that was tinged with smugness.

"Pharaoh!"

The pharaoh paused in his advance and turned around. Blue and red eyes locked onto the intruder. Mahado bowed low, looking apologetic when he glanced up at the pharaoh.

"Speak!" Seth demanded impatiently.

"My humble apologies, my pharaoh, but an urgent matter arose that demands your attention. Your presence is required in the throne room."

Seth dismissed the hunter with a flick of his wrist. Mahado bowed once more and retreated out of the room. Hungry eyes watched the messenger leave, it steered back to the pharaoh when the latter began approaching him again.

Hastening to Atem, Seth leaned across the bed and grabbed his captive by the chin, forcing the other's attention solely onto him. "It is a pity our conversation has been rudely cut short," Seth grieved. "But rest assured it isn't over. We will continue where we left off in our next encounter. For now, curb your wilfulness and I will ensure your stay here will be comfortable, but anger me and you'll regret it. I can be far crueller than your master if crossed, do you understand?"

Fury simmered beneath the crimson eyes, nevertheless the unruly head nodded in understanding to the threat made. Atem doubted the pharaoh could be remotely "crueller" than Bakura, but he wasn't going to voice that. No good would result in challenging the proud man.

"Good." Appreciative eyes admired the delicate jawline as long digits caressed the smooth skin. "Now get some rest and banish any thoughts of leaving. We're not done yet." Seth's hand lingered on the boy's chin before withdrawing. Not another word was spoken as he straightened up and departed.

The slamming of the door and the lock grating into place broke the stifling silence. Only then did the remaining occupant remember to breathe.

O-o-O-o-O

Atem was left alone for the rest of the day. He was thankful for the solitude.

Much to Atem's chagrin, Mahado never visited again. The female hunter came to tend to him and an unfamiliar male who went by the name of Shadi brought him his meals. For most part, Atem left it untouched, sipping only the water. He had little appetite.

He also ignored company, be it male or female. Instead, he would stare out of the window, looking at the endless array of colours that littered outside but seeing nothing. The unexpected tryst he witnessed the day before took the enjoyment out of the sight. The only reason why he chose to adhere himself to that spot was to ignore those in the room. With his back turned to the room, it informed others that he didn't want to be disturbed. It was how the servant found him at sunset when he brought in his evening meal.

"Take it away, I am not hungry." The request was brusque.

"Did I not tell you to be less wilful, _Atem_?"

Atem spun around and scowled at the infuriating man who was making his way to the table carrying a tray with his meal on it.

"So I was right," Seth smirked, setting the tray down on the table and then striding towards the other. "You are the one Mahado remembers because you were with him in the abandoned village, perhaps, as a captive too? And your master is none other than that bastard Bakura."

For the first time since he arrived at the palace, Atem felt fear. _Real fear_. No wonder the man was confident beyond arrogant! He knew! The pharaoh knew all along! It would be a matter of time before he is interrogated for the thief king's whereabouts. Atem would have to be careful on the information he volunteered. He wasn't sure if Bakura knew of his disappearance, but Atem couldn't risk revealing too much on the off chance he is rescued by the thief.

"It's only your assumptions. You have no proof to back up your notions," Atem spat, the words far more bolder than he felt.

"Then I'll wait for _this_," Seth stabbed the wounded arm, "to heal and we will see who dares assumes."

Atem made a mental note to disfigure the tattoo.

"No comeback, eh?" Pausing in front of Atem, Seth's smirk widened. "I had my suspicions all along. Furthermore, it isn't hard to deduce when you are so expressive. Though you lie, your body betrays you."

Pursing his lips, Atem stiffened and turned to face the window once more thus showing his back to the pharaoh. He didn't want his traitorous body to reveal more than it already had.

"I know you know Mahado, I know your master is none other than the thief scum and I suspect you know who your assailant is. I will _coax_ the truth out of you sooner or later. Whether it is extracted the easy way or the hard way is up to you. Although I have no wish to harm you, it doesn't mean I _won't_ should you force my hand, so why make it hard on yourself by holding back?"

Atem tried to look nonchalant, but his mind was feverishly working to fabricate an answer for his captor. What he revealed wasn't exactly a lie. "There is nothing I know that will of use to you. I am merely a whore, one who my master enjoys and favours above the others. I do nothing than spread my legs and moan prettily for him," Atem shrugged his shoulders lightly, his voice sounded distant as he continued. It was as if he wasn't talking about himself. "Mahado was a fellow captive. He was kind and tried to protect me from being attacked, but to no avail. Subsequently, he was punished for his efforts and was left to die."

"And yet you continue to protect those who did this to you by remaining silent about them!" Seth spat out. "Lives are at stake as long as that bastard and his men lives!"

On hearing the accusation, Atem barked out a humourless laugh and scowled briefly at the pharaoh before turning back to the window again. "You think I am not aware of that?" he snapped. He loathed the way Bakura and the pharaoh threatened him with lives of the innocent—to rest the fate of so many people in his hands. What did he do to earn such responsibilities? He swallowed his anger and said in a calmer voice, "My pharaoh, I am nothing but a mere pleasure slave, one who my master beds when he is in the mood. Other than the knowledge of pleasuring a man, I know nothing that can be of use to you even if you torture me to death."

"And what of Mahado?" the pharaoh asked, watching the other closely. "Do you not wish to avenge wrong that's been done to him? One is not oblivious to the fact you care a lot for him."

A weak smile pulled on Atem's lips before turning down at the corners again. "It matters not to me because Mahado has been dead to me for the last three years. Perhaps the outcome was merciful. He is better of in his new life. The old is not worth remembering . . . not any more."

Undeterred, Seth pushed on. "Then what about your freedom? Do you not wish to be free from the shackles that bind you to that bastard? With him gone, you are free to do as you wish. Is that not incentive enough for you to break free?"

Tempted as Atem was, he shook his head. The illusion was appealing, but at the end of the day it was nothing more than hollow words. Bakura should never to be underestimated, his actions proved far more effective than empty promises. Not even the threat against Mahado could persuade Atem to betray Bakura—not when so many lives, he thought remorsefully, outweighed the one.

It didn't stop him from wishing though.

"And what would you do you suggest I do? Where would I go?" Atem asked wistfully, his eyes staring distractedly into the distance. Oblivious to the attention the other was giving him. To be "free" was daunting for someone who had very little freedom in his life.

"You could always stay here within the palace . . . with me."

On hearing the answer, Atem turned and scowled at his companion with mock outrage. "And be part of your harem?" he retorted sarcastically. "Isn't that like running away from the rain and into the storm?"

Seth chuckled and took a step closer to the indignant male. Reaching out with his hands, his fingers gently brushed up and down the other's thin arms, enjoying the way the skin prickled beneath his touch. "Depends on which you think is the lesser evil," he murmured seductively.

Releasing a small sigh, Atem turned around and looked into the distance once more. However tempting the pharaoh's offer was, he knew it was impossible to reside in the palace, not with Mahado so close to him. After witnessing Mahado and Isis together, he almost wished for Bakura to take him away—away from their proximity.

_Bakura_, his mind whispered.

Seth watch Atem mentally withdraw from the outside world. Crimson eyes dulled as it stared out into some unknown distance, forcing the gap between them to widen despite he was pressed against the smaller man. He wanted to know what the boy was thinking—to know what occupied the boy's thoughts to the point that even he, the mightiest man in the kingdom, could not hold the other's attention. Although was refreshing, it irked him at the same time. Curiosity urged him to ask what was Atem's mind yet he was content to bask in the closeness and silence. The former option would provoked the boy into a heated confrontation and force him to go on the defensive.

In the end, he opted for the latter. The interrogation could wait for now. Besides, his plan to lure Bakura has been set in motion. News of the boy's capture will reach Bakura's ears and he will either come to take back the boy or to kill him. Either way, Seth was certain the filthy thief would be visiting the palace soon. It mattered not if the boy talked or not. Once Bakura is dead, Atem will be one step closer to being his.

O-o-O-o-O

_Bakura_ . . .

Some place far from the pensive captive, the thief king smiled in reply. "Soon, my princess. Soon . . ."

Unlike the last time, the call was soft and filled with yearning. It held none of the desperate urgency that caused him to run to the other's aid. This time the sensation brushed against his cheek like a fleeting kiss. Closing his eyes, Bakura savoured the phantom contact. He was relieved to know Atem was alive and not in immediate danger. The last few days had uncovered no news of his lover's whereabouts and Bakura was going insane with worry. Malik had approached him once since their return but was driven away by his ire. The only person who dared sought him out was Naeem. However, each visit resulted in disappointment, which was the reason Bakura was alone, not far from Kul Elna, surrounded by the wreckage of his latest tantrum.

Anger and frustration had caused destruction in its wake. He had obliterated part of a mountain in his rage, reducing it rubble and dust. It did not help he had not lain with another since Atem. Others had offered—taking advantage of the boy's absence—but Bakura had refused them all. Pent-up as he was, he lost the desire for sex. He tried to reach out the boy, but the endeavours were futile. Their connection had been severed.

Sighing deeply, he closed his eyes and lifted his face to the sky. The sun painted his vision orange behind his shuttered lids and the heated rays warmed his skin. He heard footsteps near his location but remained still. He sensed no threat from the intruder.

"I thought I'd find you here," Malik panted sullenly.

"What do you want?" Bakura remained with his back towards the other thief. "I am in no mood to humour you right now. Whatever you wish to say had better be worth disturbing my peace."

"I have news from the palace that may interest you," Malik grounded out, "however, if you I think I am intruding, I can always leave."

Bakura spun around and glared at the other thief. "Don't try my patience, Malik! Speak and be quick about it!"

Malik mocked sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. "And there I walked all the way here to cheer you up with some good news and you can't even appreciate it. How disappoint—"

A mighty roar from Diabound stopped Malik's rant. The beast stood behind its master looking ready to rip Malik from limb to limb. Malik was certain Bakura was barely holding the beast back. Despite he enjoyed goading Bakura, he was thankful Bakura had immense control over his emotions _and_ his ka.

"Fine!" Malik huffed, his mood souring. "News from the palace just came in. Apparently, the pharaoh has got hold of a captive that requires a hunter to keep guard outside its room. You don't suppose it's your little slut that got caught, do you?"

Bakura eyed Malik warily. The news provided hope, but he wasn't sure he could trust Malik's words. "Is the source trustworthy?"

Malik scowled at the other's underlying distrust. "Listen, Bakura, as much as I hate that slut of yours, I hate the way you suspect me more." Malik shook his head and sighed. "It's our usual informant, so I guess it's reliable. The rumour is trickling through the palace, it is said the pharaoh visits often."

Pale brows furrowed as Bakura contemplated the last remark. Tapping a finger absently on his chin, he mumbled, "He does, does he?" It was said more to himself than his companion. Angry tension filled the air causing Diabound to shift restlessly.

Malik took a step closer to Bakura but Diabound stopped him with a swipe of its tail. Malik had to jumped back to avoid getting hit. He winced as the movement aggravated his wound.

"You know it's a trap, right?" Malik pointed out. "They are trying to rouse your curiosity by using the rumours to lure you to them."

Bakura looked questioningly at Malik. "And how do you propose I go about it then?"

"Ignore the bait. It's not worth it. _He's_ not worth it. He's not worth your safety—"

"And you expect me to let this go unchallenged?" Bakura snarled, sweeping a hand in the air as if to sever Malik's words and sending a glare in the other's direction. "Atem is mine! It'll be over my dead body before I allow someone to take him from me!"

Malik took a few steps back with eyes wide and his expression full of hurt. Bakura's words were akin to a slap on the face. For a moment, he was too stunned to respond. When he found his voice, it was shaky with untold emotions.

"Would you risk your life for me if I was in the same situation, Bakura?"

Seeing Malik's reaction, Bakura relented and continued in softer tones. "Need you ask, fool?" Bakura sounded affronted. Even if he was a little mistrustful of the other at the moment, years of camaraderie had meant something to the thief king.

"Bakura, I . . ."

Malik was at loss for words to Bakura's admission. What they had was never outright spoken between them; they never examined in details the relationship they had because they never needed to. Everything fell into place the moment fate brought them together and they maintained the same constancy throughout the years thereafter. They were lovers, companions and comrades. Malik would unconditionally lay his life for Bakura and it seems Bakura would do the same for him too. The revelation was enlightening and it would have delighted him to no ends had it not been for one thing. The disparity between them had increased since their return from the last raid and he sensed Bakura distancing from him. He knew the reason why. The slut was more troublesome in his absence than when he was around with his infuriating ways.

"Send word to our source. I want to know every single detail pertaining the captive including where he is kept, who guards the room and who has access to it."

Malik forced out a derisive groan. "Yes, Lord Bakura." The tone was clipped and formal. He bowed and turned to leave.

"Oh, and one more thing."

Malik stopped and turned around.

"I want to know how often the pharaoh and that mongrel hunter visits, is that clear?" After the order, Bakura turned his back to Malik once more. The gesture clearly signalled the other's dismissal.

The golden head dipped in response. "I will be sure to let our informant know of your demands." Turning once more, Malik sauntered away.

On hearing Malik's footsteps fade, Bakura recalled Diabound and then sought to calm the turmoil brewing inside of him. Dare he hope it was Atem at the palace? He knew nothing would stop him from exploring the possibility—even if the rumours proved false. He would risk the chance than do nothing. There was no place in his life for regrets, not where Atem was concerned. Taking a deep breath, his next words were unwavering and filled with determination . . .

"If I cannot summon you in my dreams then in reality I'll try harder to have you in my arms! I will find you, Atem. That I promise."

Bakura meant every word of it.

~TBC~

O-o-O-o-O

**Author's Notes**: Once again, my apologies for the long delay. I would have posted this a fortnight ago, but an unexpected visit (and longish stay) from relatives had taken all of my time and I had been unable to finish the last part until now. I tried to make up the tardiness with a relatively lengthy chapter and I hope it was worth the wait. As always, your thoughts on this will be much loved and appreciated. I'll look forward to them~.

To i leader: Thank you for your review. It makes my day to know readers are enjoying the story. Every comment keeps me motivated and it's what keeps the fic alive. In answer to your question, this story is set in an alternate universe where Atem is not part of the royal family. Instead he is a motherless child of an affluent merchant who dotes on him. Mahado is Atem's retainer; he is a servant who attends Atem. He has been with Atem since the latter's birth so the pair is close. Their relationship took a turn after Hasan left. Mahado began to fill the void in Atem's heart thereafter.

Atem has never been to the palace nor met the pharaoh before his 'capture' hence why no one knows him. Besides, after his capture, he's been locked away in a room where only a few are allowed access. I hope that clears up some of the confusion for you.

* * *

><p><span>And finally, the sneak peeks to the next chappie. Warning: Read at your own risk!<span>

_Bakura looked at the boy with narrowed eyes. "So you want my cock?" The sneer was spoken with a combination of aversion and disgust. The liberty the boy took made him furious and it stirred something else inside of him._

_The boy licked his lips and eyed Bakura hungrily. The feel of his master's firm cock in his mouth and the taste of his essence leaking out and coating his tongue were indescribable. Oh gods, he wanted more . . . So much more! _

_Observing the boy's expression, Bakura smiled coldly. Swinging his legs off the bed and planting his feet firmly on the floor, he leaned back lazily on the bed, his upper torso propped up on his elbow and spread his legs apart. Gesturing his flaccid cock with his eyes, he said, "Then come. Show me what you've got."_

_Naeem didn't need to be told twice. Dashing over to the semi-reclined man, he settled between Bakura's legs and quickly engulfed the soft cock in his mouth once more . . ._

* * *

><p>Jolly: I bet you all regret reading this, right? *laughs evilly and flees*<p> 


	17. Chapter 17

_Wishing all my readers a belated Happy New Year, I hope 2015 will be yaoi and smut filled for you all! Please enjoy this chapter~._

_**Warnings**__: Lime, cussing and violence. Please proceed with caution. Scantily proofed, hence all errors will be amended in due course, kindly ignore any you may come across._

_**Disclaimer**__**: **__I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh!_

O-o-O-o-O

Calloused fingers glided across his stomach; the touch was soft and hesitant as it dipped along the ridges of the firm muscles, practically worshipping what it encountered. A hiss of pleasure escaped his lips emboldening the culprit who dared disturb his slumber with daring acts of lust.

"Atem . . ." he whispered. His voice, thick and heavy with sleep, but his cock was erected and alert.

As if encouraged by the response, Atem shifted down and he felt warm breath ghost over the places where the hands roamed only moments before and lips grazing over toned plains. At first, the kisses were gentle, timid and unsure. Even after so many years, the boy remained inhibited when it came to his needs and desires. In fact, he was surprised the boy initiated contact without being prompted. If he were to count the times Atem instigated intimacy, it'll be no more than the fingers contained on both his hands. The boy needed encouragement more oft than not.

With his eyes still tightly closed, he remained passive and allowed the other to do as he pleased. Lips travelled downwards as kisses began to get heated and fervent. Small hands slid down his side and thighs, rubbing possessively at the sweat-slicked skin. He felt his cock twitch with anticipation. It knew what was coming. He could feel the quickened breaths of the boy as the latter grasped his cock in a firm hold and nudged the head of it with the tip of his tongue.

"Atem . . ." he moaned again. It spurred the other to take the rigid shaft in his mouth and suck. In response, he bucked his hips upward encasing his cock further in the hot and moist mouth. The boy pressed a tongue on the underside of his cock, forcing it to push up against the roof of the receiving mouth as he sucked. Another breathy moan was all he could manage. It had been too long since he fucked the boy and he knew he wouldn't last long. Perhaps it was better to get his first climax out of the way so he could slowly savour the boy afterwards. It wouldn't be long before he was hard again.

"Fuck . . . _Atem_!"

Reaching out, he tangled his fingers in the boy's spiky locks—to find them entwined around limp tresses.

Bakura's eyes shot open as his hands instinctively pushed away the body that was kneeling beside him. A surprise yelp was heard as the other tumbled off the bed and onto the floor. Bakura glared at the wide-eyed form of Naeem lying on his back in a graceless sprawl, his erection—no longer confined within the loincloth—was jutting out and fully exposed. It had been obvious what the other was doing when he was sucking his master off.

"What the fuck do you think you are doing?" Angry eyes narrowed considerably, the voice spiked with outrage. "Answer me, boy!" The question ended with a snarl that would have intimidated even the most seasoned thief, but the boy remained unaffected as he stared back longingly at his master. His slender cock quivering and leaking with want.

"Considering how bold and brazen you were moments ago, you dare defy me and remain silent when I demand an answer from you? _Now_ _speak, boy!_" The boy had violated the unspoken trust between them and it irked Bakura.

Naeem could not tear his eyes away from his master. The feral expression of displeasure the other displayed made his mouth salivate. He had to swallow thickly before he could speak.

"Master looked he needed tending to," he replied, eyeing the flaccid cock with growing disappointment. It had been the moans that drew him to his master's quarters in the first place and when he peeked in, he saw the thief king writhing in his sleep and fully aroused. The proud cock was dripping with need and begging to be handled and sucked.

So he threw caution to the wind without a second thought.

It was so unlike him to act so impulsively . . . so _careless_ and _unrestrained_, but the opportunity presented itself and he wasn't going to waste it.

Naeem knew the chances of getting caught were high. The thief king was a light sleeper. When he dozed, he was partially alert. Not even when he was with _him_ did he let his guard down. The only person who had the honour to see the thief king in an unguarded state was Malik.

Still, Naeem hoped his master was too preoccupied with his dream to realise what was happening to his body. It stung to be called "Atem" but if it meant he could be intimate with his master then he was more than willing to act as a substitute.

"It had been a long time since Master lain with someone and since _he_ isn't here to provide the relief, I thought I'd offer my services."

Bakura's scowl intensified. It wasn't like the boy to be so daring. In all the time the child served him, he was meek and obedient, always inconspicuous and unassuming. So what changed to make him so bold in Atem's sudden _absence_?

Bakura looked at the boy with narrowed eyes. "So you want my cock?" The sneer was laden with a combination of aversion and disgust. The liberty the boy took made him furious and it stirred something else inside of him.

The boy licked his lips and eyed Bakura hungrily. The feel of his master's firm cock in his mouth and the taste of his essence leaking out and coating his tongue were indescribable. Oh gods, he wanted more . . . So much more!

Observing the boy's expression, Bakura smiled coldly. Swinging his legs off the bed and planting his feet firmly on the floor, he leaned back lazily on the bed, his upper torso propped up on his elbow and spread his legs apart. Gesturing his flaccid cock with his eyes, he said, "Then come. Show me what you've got."

Naeem didn't need to be told twice. Dashing over to the semi-reclined man, he settled between Bakura's legs and quickly engulfed the soft cock in his mouth. He barely suppressed the moan that rose in his throat.

Bakura watched Naeem through half-masted eyes. What the boy lacked in skills, he made up in enthusiasm. The clumsiness spoke of inexperience. It wouldn't surprise Bakura if he were venturing into virgin territory. The boy's deviousness and spiteful streak made him exceeding unpopular in Kul Elna. Bakura doubted the boy had willing mates to rut with.

Cupping his hands on the back of the boy's head, Bakura began to guide the willing mouth around his cock, tensing slightly when small teeth scrapped down his sensitive flesh. He willed himself to enjoy the moist heat surrounding his awaking length. It had been too long since he had sex. Memories of his last encounter caused his cock to harden more.

Tilting his head back and closing his eyes, he imagined Atem's mouth sucking him . . . skilfully applying the right pressure in the right place and laving attention with that sinful tongue of his. Over the years, Atem had perfected his skills. Unlike the person before him who lacked knowledge and experience, Atem could even rival Malik. Bakura ensured his stubborn lover got plenty of practice and was trained to perfection. His libido was limitless when it came to his Princess.

A soft groan drew Bakura from his thoughts. Opening is eyes, he saw the boy watching him whilst pleasuring himself. He was fisting his erection in time with the sucking. With a contemptuous huff, he pushed the boy's head down on his shaft and thrust upwards. The boy gagged when the head of his cock hit the back of his throat. It made Bakura cackle with amusement.

"Are you enjoying yourself, boy?" he purred wickedly, cold pale eyes watched the boy intently.

Teary-eyed, Naeem could only respond with a small nod. The hand pumping his cock increased its speed. It was a tell-tale sign of _how much_ he was enjoying himself—that and a groan of appreciation he involuntarily let out around his master's cock. Once more he sped up his hand movements, coaxing his climax to peak.

"Come here." Bakura ordered, patting a thigh as he sat up.

The command pulled Naeem from his euphoria and without a moment's hesitation; he scrambled off the floor, climbed on top of his master and straddled him. After securely wrapping his arms and legs around Bakura, he pressed his exposed cock to the other's groin, his hopeful eyes never leaving his master's face.

Bakura wrapped his palm around the boy's arousal and gave it firm tug. Immediately, the boy conceded a cry of pleasure and began thrusting into Bakura's hand. Bakura snaked his other hand down the other's loincloth and grabbed the boy's ass in a tight hold. "Do you want me to fuck you?" he asked slyly.

Naeem made an impatient keening sound and nodded his head vigorously. He rocked his backside furiously against Bakura's thighs, ensuring the other's balls were rubbing his clothed entrance. He was mad with want and desired nothing more than to have his master's cock ploughing into his passage. He tore at his remaining piece of clothing, not caring how pathetic and desperate he appeared in front of his leader. His actions made his master laugh.

"How badly do you want me to fuck you, boy?" The teasing words were spoken softly against the boy's ear, his breath making the young male shiver with excitement.

"S-so badly, Lord Bakura," Naeem stammered, raising his lower body so the other could cup his buttocks fully. "I want you to fuck me so badly!"

"Oh, and how long have you been wanting it, child?" Bakura ended the question with a firm grope on the boy's buttock causing him to gasp and melt against his body. "Judging from your reaction, you've been wanting for this for a _very_ long time. Just as well Atem is not available right now or you'd never get an opportunity like this, right?"

Losing himself to Bakura's ministrations on his cock and ass, Naeem readily agreed. "Master would never look at me if _he_ is here," he confessed sourly.

"Is that so?"

Naeem pressed his face against Bakura's chest and nodded. "You have eyes for no one but _him_," he whined, his impending climax making him loose with his words and audacious in attitude. "Even Malik is sorely neglected."

Heat was quickly pooling in his lower regions, the pleasure he was receiving from humping Bakura's crotch and fucking his hand was ready to expel from his body and onto his master. The thought of his essence covering the thief king made him moan with delight. He quickened his movements and could only hope his master would fuck him afterwards.

Bakura hummed an approval. "So eager to please, boy. How fortunate that Atem is absent so I may sample this fruit so ripe for the picking," Bakura pulled the boy flushed against his naked torso. "Perhaps, I should thank the gods for the opportunity."

"Master is not angry with his disappearance?"

Bakura laughed and nipped the boy's neck, sharp teeth playfully biting the tender column. "It's a mild inconvenience, but not one that can't be rectified," he said against the glistening throat. "Tell me, boy, would you like to take Atem's place?"

Upon hearing Bakura's offer, Naeem's eyes widened. He swallowed nervously before attempting to reply. When he spoke his voice shook with restrained joy and disbelief. "It'll be a wish come true, my lord. I've dreamt of nothing but to be able to serve you in every way possible."

Bakura laughed. "Then tell me, _Naeem_ . . ." he licked the boy's chin and bit his rounded jaw. The hand pumping the boy's cock sped up, forcing the other to punctuate each stroke with a low moan. The thief king smiled at the effect he had on the boy. "How far would you go to be my lover?"

"I would do anything!"

"Really?" Bakura bit into the boy's shoulder. "Would you lie for me?"

"Yes!"

"Would you kill for me?"

"Yes!"

"Would you die for me?"

"Yes!" Naeem's rapid admission was an indication of his diminishing self-control, any caution he possessed crumpled to dust in face of Bakura's skilled onslaught. "Anything, my lord! I would do anything you ask of me! As long as you allow me close to you, to serve and worship you . . . to _touch_ you!

Suddenly, Bakura's hand stopped its ministrations. Naeem wailed for relief.

Tangling his fingers into the boy's hair, Bakura tugged the head back. Naeem hissed out a protest as his face was pulled away from his master's body. His moist lips set in a sullen pout.

Looking down at the flushed face, Bakura gave the boy's hair another tug and watched the boy's eyes dilate. Bakura suspected the reaction was more from lust than fear. It was known the child got off from pain regardless if it were his own or someone else's.

Staring intently at the boy, Bakura asked, "Would you _steal_ from me, Naeem?"

The thief king's voice was surprisingly light with humour, but his eyes held no mirth. The cold gaze penetrated Naeem and held him in its terrifying thrall.

"N-n-no, m-my l-l-lord, I wouldn't dare! I—"

Bakura threw the boy off the bed and snarled, "_SILENCE_!"

Naeem stared back at his furious master from the floor. Twisted in a messy heap of gangly limbs, he wore an expression of stunned disbelief at the sudden harsh treatment. The expression soon warped into fear when his master slid off the bed to approach him. Ever the observant one, Naeem recognised danger when faced with it. Self-preservation told him to get away. However, he could not move.

Paralysed by the sight of his naked master crouched before him, Naeem instincts of flight had instantly fled, leaving him gaping in fear and inflamed with lust. He couldn't stop Bakura crushing one side of his face into the mat of woven straw on the floor with his hand. Those pale eyes glittering with murderous intent as it glared at him. Naeem knew Bakura was angry, the sight of Diabound hovering within striking distance confirmed it.

"You dare deny you stole from me?" Bakura lifted the boy's head by the hair once more and was glaring at him. "If you can't remember, then perhaps I can jog your memory." Bakura grabbed Naeem's face in the palm of his hands and proceeded to slam his head on the ground and angrily grinding the skull into the mat for good measures. He repeated it several times before he spoke again.

"What is it, boy?" Bakura watched the boy wince when he fisted the other's hair once more and dragged back the head so he could look at him. "What is it that drove you to betray and steal from me?" he spat. "Did you not learn from the others' mistakes that you dared to do the same?"

Naeem scoffed at his master's scalding reproach. The warnings from the other failed endeavours meant nothing to him. He had been offered a chance to get rid of _him_ and he wholeheartedly took it. "The move was risky, my lord," he cheekily replied. "But it was a risk I was willing to take if it meant I could be his replacement!"

"How _dare_ you, you impertinent piece of shit!" Bakura flipped the boy over onto his stomach and pounded his face into the floor. Blood soon stained the straw mat. "You are nothing to me! How can you even consider replacing Atem when you have nothing I want and nothing that _appeals_ to me! How dare you think you can replace him when you are not even worthy being his shadow!"

"My master is cruel with his honesty," Naeem babbled through the blood that was flooding into his mouth from his broken nose. The lips that were sucking his master's cock not long ago were split in several places where it scrapped against the mat or where his teeth had sunk in. It tore further when he pulled a bitter smile. "He is cruel to have given me a taste of what could be—only to have it denied again."

"You delude yourself if you think you could be more than just my errand dog! I am curious though," the look Bakura threw the boy held unmasked revulsion. "Why would you see Atem as a threat but not Malik? Surely my relationship with Malik made you jealous too?"

Naeem smiled, exposing crimson covered teeth. "It did, yet, despite he was more favoured and bedded amongst your conquests, you never once tried to claim him as yours nor did you stop coupling with others. You never had the need to so until _he_ came along! With him around, it was hard to gain your attention. Even Malik failed to get you to notice him. You'd only visited him when _he_ wasn't available."

"So you decided to make Atem permanently 'unavailable' did you?"

"That was the idea! With him around, you would never acknowledge anyone else! In your eyes, no one else existed."

"But I am noticing you now, is this what you want?"

Naeem choked out a laugh. "Yes, you are noticing me, but not how I want it to be."

Fuming openly, Bakura pulled on the hair in his hand once more. "Did you think I wouldn't find out?" he seethed. "You tried to make me suspicious of Malik, didn't you? You wanted me to suspect him for Atem's disappearance."

Naeem nodded.

"It could have worked if you hadn't been so impatient, if you hadn't been so greedy for attention that it drew suspicion to yourself."

"I had to!" Naeem retorted. "You were going to get him back! I had to make you change your mind or all would be for nothing."

"Did he know it was you who betrayed him?" Bakura's words held a dangerous note to it as he turned his captive around to look him in the face. A hand crept up to the other's throat and gripped it.

"He may have," Naeem quietly admitted, flinching when he felt Bakura's hand twitch and tighten its hold. "His eyes opened briefly before they closed again. I am not sure if he recognised me or not."

Naeem held the thief king's gaze, he knew better than to look away from the other when he was lying to him. What he told Bakura was true, but he withheld some of the details. It involved another's presence. Disclosure would worsen his fate a hundred-fold.

"How did you manage to smuggle Atem away?"

Naeem's expression did not change as he spoke. "The sedative was strong enough to knock him out for a while. I waited until the camp was distracted enough before saddling a horse and sneaking him away. The hardest part was getting his dead weight on the horse, but it's amazing with what one could accomplish with the right incentives." Naeem smirked at that. "With my frequent coming and goings, no one thought to challenge me."

"And what did you do with Atem?"

Naeem could tell it was hard for Bakura to ask this question. The strain in his voice was evident enough. It gave Naeem immense joy to provide him the answer.

"I gave him away to the first stranger who took an interest in him," he said with relish.

In a heartbeat, Naeem felt something coil around his ankle and his body lifted in air. In another heartbeat, he felt his body slam into the ground with such force that it drove his breath away. He didn't have the opportunity to scream before he was once more hauled up and smashed down again. Limbs, torso and head encountered the ground time and time again, each time the mighty Diabound gave a roar of displeasure. All he could do was shield his head weakly with his arms in a poor attempt to protect it.

All the while, Diabound's master stood watching, unmoving and simmering in silent anger as his beast tossed its victim around like a speck of sand in a desert storm. It would have given Bakura immense pleasure to see such merciless treatment befall on the traitor, but all he felt now was hollow emptiness that made his chest ache. It would not undo what had been done. It would not miraculously return Atem to him.

_STOP!_

With a single thought Bakura halted his beast. Responding with a displeased grunt, which reflected the feelings of the more feral side of Bakura, the beast complied and the bloodied figure fell limply to the floor. Bakura gave a look of disdain at the blood staining the mats and huffed his annoyance. He would have someone replace those before Atem returned. He didn't want the other to think he murdered someone in the room they slept in. Knowing the finicky boy, it would be difficult to coax him back in again.

Striding up to the unconscious heap on the floor, Bakura crouched down and felt the other's neck for a pulse. Satisfied with the feeble beat he detected, he stood up and donned the loincloth he had discarded the night before and slipped on his sandals. Then he pulled on the outer robe he gifted Atem and breathed in deep. Only faint traces of the boy's scent lingered on the garment now. And it wasn't enough anymore.

He _wanted_ and _needed_ more.

Bakura wanted Atem to be near him. He needed the solid presence of the boy within his proximity. He needed to be able to smell, touch and _breathe_ the boy. His absence only strengthened the feelings that had accumulated and grown over the years and nothing could fill the yawning chasm the boy's absence invoked. It was through this absence that Bakura realised how important Atem was to him.

Leaving the battered body behind him, Bakura marched out of the room to look for Rishid. He had no doubt the little traitor was withholding something from him, but in his current murderous mood, he could not risk being near him. He will pry everything out of the traitor eventually, but first they needed to rescue a princess from the clutches of the pharaoh.

Whistling for assistance after exiting his quarters, Bakura summoned Malik and Rishid. The messenger fled after receiving his orders, watched by a solemn thief king.

_I am coming for you, Atem. I swear I am coming for you_.

Heading back into his room, Bakura vowed to get back what was his. There was no time to lose. The need was getting worse with each passing heartbeat.

_Atem. Mine_, his mind chanted possessively and the tug in heart resounded in agreement.

O-o-O-o-O

Malik sauntered into the dark, dank room, wrinkling his nose at the stale stench of vomit, blood, human waste and unwashed bodies that lingered in the air. He wasn't there by choice. His curiosity refused to be sated when Bakura instructed Rishid to lock the traitor away. It burned hole in Malik.

Bakura's treatment of the boy surprised Malik; the runt had been with them for as long as he could remember. Bakura had picked up the stray ten summers ago and the runt had stuck to his master like sap to a tree. Bakura trained the runt to be his eyes and ears on and off camp and, like Malik, the latter personally reported to Bakura and carried out his orders. It was why Malik was surprised to learn of the runt's treachery—if such transgressions could be construed as such. Details were not forthright given, but Malik knew it had something to do with the missing slut.

Unimpressed, Malik snorted through his nose. Making the slut disappear was hardly considered treacherous by any stretch of the imagination, but Bakura refused to see it any other way. The only relief Malik gained pertaining this affair was that suspicion was finally removed from him. The discovery of the culprit would hopefully dispel any misgivings between himself and Bakura. The growing rift between them had been unbearable for Malik and he looked forward to being favoured by his master once more. He wouldn't deny how ideal it would be for the slut to never return and that Bakura would be all his again, but for now, he would settle for any alternatives to placate his restless master. Bakura, like a child deprived of his favourite plaything, was irritable and unpleasant to be around. The thieves in the camp were wary. They feared their leader's dark moods and the threat of Diabound appearing to vent was looking more real by the day. Only that upstart of a bitch could induce such acute reactions from their callous leader. It was vexing to say the least.

A weak splutter drew Malik from his thoughts and he looked towards the sound. The runt—lying on his side, naked with his undoubtedly broken arms and legs sprawled out—was starting to stir. The bloody pulp on the floor did not make a pretty sight to behold. He had the workings of Diabound stamped all over him. Malik idly wondered how much did Bakura lose control at the time. The runt's crime must have been great to warrant Bakura's wrath in Diabound's form. Judging from the other's nakedness, Malik wondered if the fool had tried to sneak into Bakura's bed and awoken more than what he bargained for. But then again, Bakura wouldn't have referred the other as a "traitor" if it were so . . . unless seduction was considered treacherous—a betrayal that warrants Diabound's attention!

Malik rolled his eyes at the absurdity of his thoughts; it was better to rouse the idiot for his answers instead.

Malik nudged the runt's head with his foot. "Hey, wake up, you little shit!"

Pain filled Naeem's body and engulfed his senses as soon as he regained consciousness. Gone was the sweet abyss of oblivion that cushioned him from the agony and he released a distressed groan. So wrapped up with his pain, it took a while for him to realise he had a visitor. Naeem scowled after noticing Malik.

"So, care to enlighten me why our master now calls you a 'traitor'?" Malik went straight to the point. It was pointless to loiter because he had work to do. Bakura had insisted on retrieving the slut soon and the order was passed down. Their spies were given until tonight to ensure a smooth operation. Woe betides anyone who failed. Malik wouldn't want to be in that position should the slut fail to return. Bakura had already threatened to slowly dismember the traitor should anything befall his Princess.

"Why don't you ask him?" Naeem sarcastically replied. He never liked Malik.

"Because, in his eyes, you are too insignificant to waste breath on," Malik snapped back.

Naeem grunted his dissent. "He didn't seem to think so when I was being beaten by his beast."

"I am guessing that's because you decided bereft him of his beloved whore, am I right?"

Naeem said nothing.

"Pity you failed to achieve that though."

"Well, I guess we have something in common then," sneered Naeem.

Malik glared at the insolent child. "Cocky words for someone who is in deep shit," he returned in the same tone. "You should have killed the whore while you had the chance, you foolish child, then this," Malik gestured to useless limbs and battered body, "could have been avoided."

Naeem coughed out a bloody laugh. "You mean I should have killed off the princess and rid the rival for you?"

Malik stiffened. He couldn't refute claim because it was the truth and he resented the traitor for airing it. "Listen, you piece of shit, don't think I wasn't aware of how you were implying me for the slut's disappearance," he countered heatedly.

"As if Bakura wouldn't suspect you anyway," Naeem smirked. "Your hatred and hostility made you an easy target, it's only natural to blame you."

'So why didn't you kill him?" Malik insisted. "Surely you knew Bakura would never stop looking or rest until he has the fucking whore back alive or dead. Or did you expect him to give up so easily?"

Naeem looked put out at Malik's comment and would have pouted had his stiff and swollen facial muscles allowed it. "I _expected_ him to blame you for everything. I expected that bastard to never escape the clutches of the one who had him. However, I _never_ expected he would attract the attention of a fucking pharaoh and be saved!"

Malik responded with a snort as leaned down to the lying figure. "Then let this be a valuable lesson to you, boy. Always expect the unexpected, especially where our leader and that whore is concerned. One can never predict what Bakura will think or do, nor can one get rid of that whore so easily. Bakura's luck seems to have rubbed off on him . . . amongst other things," he finished dryly. There was a hint of resignation in his voice and Naeem picked up on it immediately.

"How pathetic! Given up have you?" the younger goaded, trying to raise Malik's hackles. He could benefit from the other's hatred for their mutual rival. "The Malik I know would never give up so easily."

Not taking the bait, Malik shrugged and straightened up. "And look where fighting and scheming gotten you, shithead? I'll be patient and abide my time. Unlike for you, opportunities will arise and next time I'll ensure he won't be returning to Bakura's side _ever_." Glancing down at the pitiful mess on the floor, Malik turned to leave.

"If you help me, we could work together!" Naeem shouted at that retreating figure.

Malik stopped and turned around. He fixed a contemptuous glare on the grovelling runt. "There's no 'we' because you will never be able to get out of this shit you've sunk yourself into. The only reason you are still alive and not out in the desert where your carcass is being picked off by scavengers is because Bakura is too preoccupied to kill you. Need I remind you, whether you get a swift death or not will depend on whether Bakura recovers that whore _and_ in what condition he will be in." Malik turned away once more, but twisted his head to say, "Besides, I don't trust you to _want_ to work with you and since we both want Bakura it will complicate matters."

"Scared I'll be too much competition for you, old ma—"

A scream replaced the rest of the sentence when Malik kicked Naeem onto his back and ground his foot into the other's exposed groin.

"Fucking bastard!" Malik snarled, pressing harder on the soft flesh beneath his foot and enjoying the screams of pain the other yielded. "You can hardly be considered a threat if you had to trick your way . . . "

_Grind_.

"Into Bakura's bed . . . "

_Grind_.

"For a . . ."

_Grind, grind_.

"Fuck!"

_Stamp_.

The screams ended on a wet gurgle. All that remained was the sound of Malik's heavy panting. Hunkering down, Malik studied the still runt's battered face, noting the blood mixed with saliva dribbling from the corner of his bruised lips. Grabbing the boy's face, Malik squeezed the cheeks together and peered into the boy's parted mouth.

The latter had severed his tongue.

Feeling no remorse, Malik stared dispassionately at the motionless form and muttered a few curses before getting up and leaving. He hoped Bakura wasn't planning on interrogating the traitor for further information. Should the runt survive his injuries, he would not be speaking again thus rendering him useless. Having lost his value, the bastard was good as dead.

Malik smirked as he stepped into the sunlight.

It also meant one less rival for him now.

O-o-O-o-O

_Atem. Mine, mine, mine, mine, mine_ . . .

Atem jolted awake as the echoes of the mantra faded into the recess of his mind. His heart hammered wildly in his chest as his body resonated with emotions the words evoke. The yearning and want was so overwhelming that it left him shaken and breathless.

Looking through the slit of a window, he stared at the blue expanse of the sky and softly uttered the name of the man who had called out to him.

"_Bakura?_"

An acute tingle of anticipation was the response and Atem knew what it meant.

Reunion was just over the horizon. _He_ was coming for him.

* * *

><p>~TBC~<p>

* * *

><p>O-o-O-o-O<p>

**Author's Note**: I hope everyone had a wonderful Christmas and a fantastic New Year! I would like to thank all those who have been leaving me their thoughts or have been prodding me for an update. I am dreadfully sorry for the delay in this chapter, but RL has been immensely hectic for me especially over the holidays. I hope I am able to redeem myself with this chapter and that it was worth the wait. If not, I am sorry.

The next chapter will (hopefully) contain more action and drama. I hope the sneak peek below will make you squee with excitement because it's one confrontation you'll not want to miss!

See you in my next update and "Happy Valentines Day" to those who celebrate it. I hope you have a memorable day~!

* * *

><p><span>In the next chapter<span>:

"_I believe you have someone in your possession that belongs to me, Pharaoh!" Bakura nonchalantly stated, the smirk and mock humour in his voice made his words jovial and casual. "Now give him back like a good little king!"_

_The pharaoh glared at the taunting thief. How dare the savage make demands! And how dare he expect his demands to be met! The bastard's audacity knew no bounds and it infuriated him! _

"_There is nothing in this realm that does not belong to me, Thief!" Seth sneered. "And as it happens, I've decided to keep him for myself since you no longer have any use for him now. After the widespread mayhem and carnage you've caused, do you think you can leave here alive?" _

_The guards surrounding the thief took a step closer to make a point._


End file.
